


Serpent Code

by Orifiel



Series: Serpent Code [1]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orifiel/pseuds/Orifiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a stormy childhood of mutual loathing, the discovery of a dark secret alters the history between the leader of the Tunnel Snakes and the future Lone Wanderer. When Butch DeLoria learns of her circumstances behind closed doors, he feels something unravel inside him. Regardless of where they stood in the past, even serpents have a code of honor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
(2013 Cover by Orifiel)  
 _(For the 2015 Cover, see the last chapter)_  


x-x-x-x-x

The switchblade flicked open and closed in a repeating rhythm that echoed throughout the dark corridor. Farther down, the murmured conversation in the old classroom contrasted with the sharper sounds of the weapon he was idly manipulating in his hands. He shifted his position against the wall, restlessness preventing his body from staying still for too long. The leather of his jacket rubbed along the smooth metal surface, the faded emblem on his back alluding to the derelict status of the Tunnel Snakes. Blood was thicker than water, and when blood had called in the form of Wally’s family issues and Paul’s demise, the watery delusions he’d had of his adolescent gang trickled right through his fingers. One more reason why he couldn’t stay. The Tunnel Snakes had a future out there.

He had a few minutes at most to make up his mind, and the pressure grew heavier with each passing second. On one hand, braving the unknown Wasteland by himself promised less than favorable outcomes, the obvious ones being starvation and death. On the other, the only person with outside experience was, at that moment, walking out of Vault 101 for the second and final time, and he’d be damned if he went crawling after her, asking to tag along. After everything that had happened, he’d count himself lucky if she made him her flunky. And therein lay the problem.

Butch DeLoria answered to no one... even Ivy Ashburn.

x-x-x-x-x

**(March 2263)**

“Goddammit, Ellen! That was the last bottle for the week!” Hank DeLoria yelled.

The little boy slung his backpack over his shoulders and stood quietly by the apartment entrance. He watched as his father stormed across the small living room and grabbed the empty liquor bottle from the hand of the hungover woman draped over the sofa. Butch flinched at the sound of the glass shattering against the metal wall, hands balling into fists inside his pockets.

“Jesus, shut the hell up and stop hurling shit. My head is pounding,” his mother groaned as she threw a groggy arm over her eyes.

“Hey, watch your fuckin’ language around our kid,” Hank snarled, kicking the leg of the sofa. “And what’s the deal finishing my whiskey, huh? How’re you gonna make it up to me?”

Ellen glared at him from beneath her arm. “ _Hello_ , Dr. Ashburn said no more alcohol for you. Remember? Your liver is basically screwed, so I’m doing you a damn favor.”

“Fuck what James said. That greenhorn physician don’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about.”

“Whatever. Just give me a few hours to sleep this off. Now go take Butch to school. It’s his first day,” Ellen grumbled, already rolling over to show him her back.

Butch turned away as his father lost his temper. He peered out the entrance window and saw several families walking by, all wearing the standard 101 jumpsuit. After a minute, his jaw clenched at the sight of the excited kids as they met and chatted with each other, forging early friendships. A few seemed nervous, but their parents held their hands in a way that he figured was supposed to be comforting.

_Wimps. They’re all dumb._

He looked up when his father trudged next to him, smoothing back his gelled black hair and adjusting his utility suit.

“All right, let’s go, son,” Hank muttered, pushing the button to open the door. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

Butch glanced once at his mother nursing her bruised cheek before following his father outside.

Upon arriving at the classroom, he decided he didn’t like school. Hank had abruptly dropped him off at the entrance, where he loitered while staring at the activity inside. Most of the other parents had stuck around to speak with the teacher, Mr. Brotch, as the students claimed desks and either socialized or kept to themselves. Educational posters featuring the Vault Boy mascot decorated the walls and promoted careers in chemistry, engineering, and mathematics. He snorted and stepped inside, selecting a desk at the very back to drop his things on.

A black boy chose that moment to approach him. “Hi, I’m Paul. Can I sit here?”

Butch shrugged. “Don’t care. Just don’t talk to me.”

Undeterred, Paul took the seat in front of him and kept talking. “My mom gave me a new box of crayons. Wanna see a picture I drew?”

“No.”

“Wanna see the crayons?”

“Argh… no.”

“How ‘bout my copy of _Captain Cosmos_?”

“Jeez, for the last time—wait, what?” Butch asked with sudden interest.

Paul grinned and produced the rare comic book, which was worn and frayed at the edges, but still very much intact. Butch swiped it from his hands, ignoring his request to handle it gently. While neither of them could read yet, the colorful pictures depicting the spacefaring superhero were popular with kids their age. They flipped through the comic together on Butch’s desk, pointing at different action panels that stood out. He was about to tell Paul to let him borrow it for a day (or forever) when the entire room suddenly went quiet.

Curious, Butch gazed toward the doorway, where everyone else’s eyes had drifted. He recognized the stern figure of the Overseer right away, but didn’t understand why others always seemed to be on eggshells whenever he was in the vicinity. From what Butch had heard during Hank’s drunken rants, the Overseer was “an asshole who could go fuck himself.” While uncertain of the context of that statement, Butch assumed that that meant there was nothing to be afraid of. At the Vault leader’s side stood his daughter Amata, her long dark hair tied up in a tight bun. She strode inside at her father’s light prodding and made her way to the front, breaking the silence as she politely greeted the adults.

The Overseer stayed a second longer to send the teacher a meaningful look before departing. Butch could almost hear the collective sigh of relief as the noise and chatter resumed. Paul scratched his head, indicating that he was just as clueless about the big deal with the Overseer, but immediately went back to viewing the comic. Another set of people arrived at that instant, this time a teenager with subtle Asian features, another teen with a skin tone similar to Paul’s, and a younger boy Butch assumed to be related to the first one.

“Well… here you are, Wally,” Teen #1 grumbled, yawning. “Can’t believe Mom and Dad woke me up early just to walk you all the way down here. Susie’s fever isn’t even that bad.”

“Bye, Stevie,” was all the stoic boy said as he headed for the nearest desk, which happened to be right next to Butch’s.

The other teen was tugging at Stevie’s sleeve. “Come on, man, let’s get to the cafeteria before—”

“Edwin,” Mr. Brotch barked from the other end of the room. “What are you doing here? You’d better not be late for class again this school term.”

“I know, Dad. I still have like two hours,” Teen #2 complained, rolling his eyes. “I was just helping Stevie deliver one of your runts this year.”

"Well, since you're here, I do have some things I need you to deliver to your instructor. Hang on a minute."

Butch snickered as both teens sighed with exasperation. He then glanced at his new seat neighbor, who had actually folded his arms over his desk and gone to sleep. The urge to pull some kind of prank took over, and Butch only half-listened to Paul’s continuous ramblings about the comic as he dug through his backpack and found a black marker in the disorganized case of writing utensils Ellen had packed for him. He also found what was supposed to be his lunch, and he wrinkled his nose at the squashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the reused brown paper bag. Making a mental note to swap it for someone else’s lunch when he got the chance, he edged closer to Wally’s slumbering form.

As soon as the cap came off the marker, however, Amata appeared in front of him.

“We’re not supposed to bring comics to school, you know,” she stated, scowling at both Butch and Paul. “I’m gonna tell Mr. Brotch if you don’t put that away.”

Paul frowned and obediently moved to close the comic, but Butch stopped him by slamming his palm down on the open pages. The sound startled Wally awake and alerted some of the nearby students, though the adults still conversing at the front hadn’t noticed.

“What are ya, the teacher’s pet?” Butch asked Amata disdainfully. “Buzz off before I use this marker to make your face even uglier than it is.”

Her cheeks reddened with anger as Paul laughed, but as soon as she opened her mouth to give them an earful, the automated bell rang. Butch smirked at her when the parents began filing out and Mr. Brotch called for the students to find seats. With a furious huff, she whirled around and stomped off to her desk near the board. Butch stuck his tongue out at her back as he sat sideways in his chair, giving Paul a high-five. Wally had watched the whole thing, but remained silent as he tried to return to his nap, which earned him sharp admonishment from their teacher.

After patting himself on the back for telling off the Overseer’s daughter, two stationary bodies at the entrance drew Butch’s attention. The self-satisfied smile evaporated from his face when he recognized the man in the white lab coat as Dr. Ashburn, the physician who had diagnosed his father with some kind of liver disease. Instead of bringing his parents closer together, the diagnosis had only escalated the problems between them. Butch couldn’t help the surge of resentment that welled up, especially when he spotted the little girl clamped onto Dr. Ashburn’s leg.

She looked shy and nervous, and when Stevie gazed down at her as he and Edwin passed by, she tried to bury her head inside her father’s lab coat. Her auburn hair had been tied into two messy pigtails with purple ribbons, and Butch had the sudden desire to yank them as her father crouched down and gave her a tight hug. She held an apple in one hand, apparently meant for Mr. Brotch. Dr. Ashburn flashed a grin at the teacher and gave his daughter a hasty kiss on the cheek, wishing her luck. She was still standing in the doorway after he rushed off, paralyzed with fear when she saw that half the class was staring in her direction.

“Ivy Ashburn?” Mr. Brotch asked, his voice taking on a softer timbre. “Don’t be scared, come in.”

She shuffled forward with unsteady steps. Butch could sense weakness from a mile away, and as far as he was concerned, she may as well have been wearing a giant target on her head. He pretended to stretch, sticking out his foot as she walked by. Her ankle caught on his sneaker, and with a high-pitched cry, she tripped and landed hard on her face. He burst out laughing, joined by the majority of their classmates. Amata jumped up and hurried to the girl’s side, shooting Butch a vicious glower as Ivy curled into a ball on the floor. He couldn’t have cared less; the whole thing had been too funny.

Mr. Brotch zeroed in on him. “Let me guess: Butch DeLoria. Welcome to school. Now go sit in timeout.”

That cut Butch’s guffaws short. He glanced at the corner behind him, where a dunce cap sat on a wooden stool. “Aw, but I was just stretchin’ my legs, Teach.”

“Funny, I remember a similar incident happening two decades ago when your father was ‘just stretching his legs,’ too,” Mr. Brotch snapped, a vein throbbing in his temple near his graying hair. “So I’m going to tell you what I told him: get your butt in that corner and don’t forget to put the hat on.”

The snickers and giggles persisted, though this time they were directed at him. Incensed, he rose from his chair and paused to hover over Ivy, who was clutching her bloody nose as Amata helped her sit up. The apple had rolled near his feet, and he prepared to stomp it, not caring that he’d be in even more trouble.

“You’re done for, nosebleed,” he hissed at her. “I’m gonna have you crying to your mommy all year.”

The bright hazel eyes that swung up at him glistened with tears, but her voice remained steady as she spoke through her hands. “My mommy’s dead.”

His leg froze over the fruit he’d been about to crush. She continued peering up at him, unblinking. After several seconds of disregarding Mr. Brotch’s increasing ire, Butch was the first to look away. He set his foot down next to the unharmed apple and proceeded to the corner without saying anything more.


	2. Chapter 2

**(July 2276)**

"This had better fuckin' work, man, or I swear to Christ I'll gut ya," Butch rumbled into his Pip-Boy as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair next to his dresser.

"Hey, be happy that I even have a way for you to get your shit back," Wally's voice retorted from the small speaker on the device. "When Stevie confiscates things, they tend to stay locked up."

Butch took a minute to run a comb through his meticulously styled hair even though the effort was likely pointless, considering where he was going. "Yeah, well, your brother's a wanna-be rent-a-cop on a damn power trip."

Wally snorted. "True enough. He's always been an insufferable bastard, but it's gotten worse since he switched jobs and started security training." He paused as someone called his name in the background. "Okay, I gotta go. My parents are both at work, Stevie's maintaining batons in the lower level, and I'm helping Susie study in the rec room, so my apartment should be empty for at least a couple hours. But if you get caught, I had nothing to do with it."

Butch's forehead creased as he went over the plan again in his head. "Yeah, yeah, catch ya later."

Once he hung up, his stomach tightened into knots, but he'd never admit to feeling nervous. He shook out his limbs and did a few boxing moves in front of his mirror to loosen up. No mistakes. One more serious demerit and he could kiss his barber career good bye to start one in the septic tank business. His Majesty the Overseer had said so himself. If there was one thing Butch's father had gotten right before his death, it was the accurate classification of Alphonse Almodovar as a supreme asshole.

Satisfied that he was as ready as he'd ever be, Butch left his room and headed for the front door, hollering to his mother that he was going out. _Game time._

He sauntered down the fluorescent-lit corridor of apartments, trying to look inconspicuous as passing neighbors glared at him in suspicion. The only drawback to spreading the Tunnel Snake name was the public scrutiny, which made tasks requiring stealth next to impossible. Fortunately, the Tunnel Snakes took care of their own, and he had more than enough help to pull this off. As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of Princess 101 flagging down Jonas Palmer, who was heading in the opposite direction.

"Jonas! Hey," Amata greeted, hurrying up to the medical technician when he stopped and turned around. "Do you know where Ivy is?"

Butch kept walking, but glanced at the small decorated package in her hands. A peace offering? Word around the Vault was that she and Ivy Ashburn had had a falling out a while ago.

"I'm afraid I don't," Jonas replied. "She tends to disappear when she's not doing her intern work at the clinic."

"I know," Amata said with a sigh. "Could you please give this to her for me? I'd visit her when she's on duty, but my training classes are scheduled at the same time, so…"

"Sure, no problem."

Butch had already passed by, but he listened until they bid each other good bye and went on their way. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Ivy more than a handful of times in the past few months. Now that they were all busy preparing for their assigned vocations, he didn't see much of any of his peers except when the Tunnel Snakes planned hangouts. And the last time he'd run into Ivy, she had practically been a different person. Not that he cared, but the change in her personality over the last year or two had made her utterly boring to mess with. She just didn't… _react_ anymore.

Dismissing all thoughts of his childhood quarry, he ducked into an empty hallway and reached the maintenance closet at the end. One glimpse at the upper right corner told him that Paul had already hacked into and shut off the security cam. After double-checking to make sure the coast was clear, he tried the switch next to the closet and determined that Paul had also overridden the lock for him. He'd have to stop giving the guy flack for going into engineering because these new technical skills were proving to be valuable. As the door slid open, he dove inside and swiftly shut it behind him.

The strong smell of cleaner hit his nostrils, and he activated the flashlight on his Pip-Boy, the interface casting the small space in a green glow. Standard cleaning machinery sat against the back while cluttered shelves lined the adjacent walls on either side of him. He pointed the light toward the ceiling, where a hatch to the Vault's ventilation system hung open. Wally had been correct about Stanley's failing memory in his old age, and Butch issued a muttered thanks to the maintenance worker for forgetting to close the cover.

He removed most of the scrap metal and detergent from the shelves before testing their sturdiness. Keeping the light trained on his route, he took a deep breath and climbed toward the opening. A rush of cool air hit his face when he poked his head into the metal shaft, and he grunted as he boosted himself up, landing noisily inside. The height was approximately three feet, so he situated himself into an army crawl and glanced down at his Pip-Boy to read Wally's instructions again.

Since the long lines of text were too much for him to memorize at once, he followed the first set of directions straight ahead and to the right. The loud echoes of his movements forced him to slow down, lest someone mistake him for a radroach or something. He shuddered at the thought as he crawled along on his elbows, only now wondering if radroaches did indeed scurry around in these vents. When he stopped to read the next set of directions, he swept his flashlight ahead and behind him.

_Fuck… how did I not think about this before?_

Luckily, there were no signs of the pests.

He started to perspire despite the chilly temperature, feeling a little claustrophobic in the enclosed darkness. However, his determination drove him on. He progressed as such for about fifteen minutes until coming to a point where the shaft widened enough for him to rise to his hands and knees. Soon, he reached his destination: the wall vent overlooking Stevie Mack's bedroom. Butch found it almost absurd that gaining access to someone's home was this easy, but then again, not many people living in the Vault would have risked this mission.

_Only the Butch-man._

The screwdriver he'd brought along in his pocket undid the screws without much hassle. He turned off his flashlight and strained to listen for any sounds or voices below, but when he heard none, he gently pried the large shutter cover off and laid it flat at his side. The resulting opening was a square barely large enough for him to fit through, but the absence of his jacket left him the right size. His eyes swept around the tidy room, squinting through the dim standby lights and lingering on the wardrobe and desk drawer to the left. If he had to guess, the drawer was his best bet.

He realized then that he needed a strategy to get back into the vent once he dropped down. According to Wally, Stevie wouldn't notice an item or two vanishing from his pile of sequestered objects, but if anything else was even an inch out of place, he would know someone had broken in and entered.

As it turned out, Lady Luck seemed to favor Butch today because a tall dresser happened to be located right underneath him. He shifted his position so that his legs went through first. Heart hammering away, he lowered himself into the room and waited in a crouch when his feet touched the soft carpet. The lights remained low, and he concluded with relief that they hadn't been set on an automatic movement detector. As silently as he could, he crept to the desk, still hearing no signs of occupancy throughout the apartment. His hand reached out to pull the handle, but met resistance as the lock denied him access.

 _No sweat,_ he thought, pulling out a bobby pin. As his confidence grew from the lack of setbacks, he began picking the lock. _Seen this in those old movies a million times. How hard could it be?_

Eight broken bobby pins and many minutes later, he finally heard the locking mechanism release. He shoved the pin remnants into his pockets, decidedly annoyed by this point. But once he tugged open the drawer and sifted through the contents, a grin stretched over his mouth.

He plucked his Toothpick from the other confiscated switchblades and kissed it before tucking it away in his back pocket, where it belonged. Now that he knew Super Trooper Stevie Mack was on the prowl and seizing anything that could be considered a weapon, Butch would make sure the Toothpick didn't make an appearance outside trusted company anymore. Even on the annual Tunnel Snake intimidation parades.

_Well, got what I came for. Time to go._

But as he was about to close the drawer, another item caught his eye.

A silver and jade serpent pendant stood out among the heap of weapons and gadgets. Its body, big enough to fill his palm, curled and twisted in similar fashion to the Tunnel Snake logo. The jagged spikes of the spine gleamed in the light of his Pip-Boy's interface, and illegible letters ran across the serpent's side in a sloppy engraving. He picked it up and examined the matching silver chain.

The clasp had shattered when Stevie had walked up to him and yanked it from around his neck. He hadn't forgotten about it, but…

The seconds passed as he hesitated. His arm went to drop it back onto the pile, but retracted almost as quickly. Making up his mind, he shut the desk drawer, pendant and chain in hand, and turned back toward the vent.

An electronic tapping noise right outside the bedroom door set off his internal alarms.

While his blood turned to ice, his brain and body went into overdrive. As stealthily as he could, he lunged for the dresser, vaulting up into the shaft and cursing at the reverberating clang of the pendant hitting the metal. Whoever was outside hadn't entered yet, so he grabbed the shutter cover and slammed it back into place, panic rendering him clumsy and reckless. The impact sent another echo traveling across the ventilation, and with fumbling fingers he shoved the screws back in just as the door opened.

He heard his own pulse pounding in his ears as he froze on his knees behind the shutter cover, trying to keep his heavy breathing quiet. He couldn't tell who had come in, but when the individual strode straight toward him, all his body functions went still. The sound of a drawer shifting caused his eyes to flicker downward, and he stifled an expletive when he realized that in his haste to scramble out of sight, he had kicked the top dresser drawer open.

_Fuck! Oh my God… oh shit. Don't look up. Don't see me. I'm not here._

But when the person spoke, sheer shock drowned out all other thought processes.

"What on earth?" a soft female voice mumbled.

Butch's head snapped down as he strained to see through the shutters.

_Ivy?!_

Her long, wavy auburn hair shielded her face, but he could pick out that voice anywhere. The steady resonance hadn't changed as they grew up, and even when she used to snap back at him, the smoothness of her vocals stayed consistent. She took something from the drawer and studied it in silence, giving no indication that she noticed Butch a few yards above her. He tried to wrap his head around her presence in Stevie's room, but before he could come up with his own inferences, the door opened again.

"Already looking through the good stuff, Ivy?" a man asked in a sneering tone. "You're spoiling the surprise."

Butch heard a lock click into place. Footsteps approached until Stevie came into view, his security uniform still impeccably creased and buttoned. The years had etched permanent harshness to his features, accentuated further by the way he kept his head shaved. He set his helmet down on the desk as Ivy rotated toward him, holding up an item that looked to Butch like an inhaler.

"What are you doing with Jet?" she demanded. "When I came in, I saw these in the—"

"I thought we'd try something new," Stevie interrupted.

Butch watched him take the inhaler from her hand and move it toward her mouth. _The hell… security boy is fuckin' around with chems!_

"No!" Ivy cried, recoiling. She seemed to catch herself right after the outburst. "I mean… no, because my dad will know if I'm using recreational drugs. I won't do this."

A dark look passed over Stevie's face. Before she could react, he grabbed hold of her jaw and shoved the device past her lips so roughly that even Butch winced. Ivy choked and coughed as Stevie administered the hallucinogen into her system, her arms pushing against his chest until he growled something into her ear. He bested her in size and strength, but his words alone were enough to subdue her. She settled down and obeyed his instructions to breathe in the fumes, the occasional whimper piercing the air.

From his perch, Butch still couldn't see into the dim area very well, but he found that he really didn't want to. Whatever was going on between those two made him queasy. Maybe they were just messing around, he didn't know. But none of this sat well with him, and he wasn't exactly the model of upstanding citizenship. He'd always thought of Ivy as a personal victim for social harassment, but this…

A sickening feeling seeped into his chest when she collapsed as soon as Stevie released her. The security trainee took a few hits of Jet himself and then tossed the inhaler behind his shoulder before unbuckling his uniform vest.

"Get on the bed," he ordered.

"Wait, Stevie, I need to talk to you—"

"Don't make me say it again."

When Ivy struggled to move from the floor, Butch had seen and heard enough. He moved to crawl back through the ventilation system, but the slightest touch of the surface beneath his weight surrounded him with another round of traitorous echoes.

"What the fuck was that?" he heard Stevie bark.

_Shit. Goddammit, I'm stuck here._

Ivy's unsteady staggering distracted Stevie, which allowed Butch to carefully reposition himself. He sat against one side of the shaft with his knees drawn up to his chest. The sharp edges of the pendant dug into his palm as he attempted to cover his ears with his inner arms for the next half hour. He wished he hadn't come here. His Toothpick could have waited another few days for retrieval. But no, he had been impatient, and now he was paying for it. He didn't need to know this about Ivy, didn't need to hear her crying and pleading amidst the creaking of the bed.

_"Stevie, you're going too hard."_

_"Please, it hurts."_

_"Ow! Ungh."_

To which Stevie responded with, _"Shut the hell up and ride me like it's your last fuck, baby."_

Butch grimaced in the darkness when a loud, masculine groan eventually filled the room. He waited as Stevie's panting abated and listened for anything from Ivy, but she had stopped making noise a while ago. Finally, once he heard the rustle of clothing, he chanced a look through the shutters and found Stevie fully dressed while Ivy sat wrapped in a sheet on the bed. The sight of her, unmoving and withdrawn, brought a strange kind of disturbance to his psyche. He had felt it only a handful of times in his life, and although he wasn't the one who had just ravaged her mercilessly, there it was.

Guilt.

"My folks will be out again tomorrow, so be here at the same time. Then we'll talk about where to meet up next week," Stevie told Ivy.

She didn't answer, and Butch knew what would happen next before Stevie even moved. He struck her across the face, eliciting a gasp from her throat as her head snapped to the side. The action triggered hot, reflexive anger within Butch, and it surged through him as images of his parents' worst fights flashed across his mind. With great difficulty, he restrained himself from bursting out of his hiding place and introducing the other man's mug to his fists.

"Remember what I said." Stevie grabbed his helmet and returned the used Jet inhaler to the stash drawer. "Now stay here until the high wears off. Should take a few more minutes. No one will be back for a while, but you need to leave within the hour."

"Okay," she rasped, peering cautiously at him. "But Stevie, I really need to tell you something—"

"I'm heading out for the evening shift," he cut in. When he reached the exit, he paused before stepping out. "Oh, and…"

Butch, already brimming with violent intent, leaned forward and inwardly dared him to piss him off one more notch.

"Happy birthday, Ivy."

Shooting her a smirk, Stevie disappeared through the door. Butch gritted his teeth as she sniffled once. That explained Amata's gift earlier. He hadn't realized today was Ivy's birthday. She wiped her eyes and tried to collect herself, her motions sluggish from the effects of the drug. After a minute, she activated her Pip-Boy and sighed. Butch stared through the shutters, uncertain what else to do at this point.

_Damn… this whole mess is a fuckin' load of bullshit._

"Welcome to Ashburn medical records database, user IVY ASHBURN," an automated voice recited from the device on her wrist. "Accessing classified files for IVY ASHBURN. Accessing last test taken on JULY 7, 2276."

Butch frowned as he tried to make sense of the recording.

"Results for HUMAN CHORIONIC GONADOTROPIN test available. Accessing results."

_Human cho-whadda?_

"Retrieved. Test results positive. Patient is pregnant."

His eyebrows shot to his hairline as she cut the connection and wept quietly into a pillow. He didn't even notice how hard he was squeezing the serpent pendant until he unclenched his bloody fingers.

_Holy fuck…_


	3. Chapter 3

**(December 2268)**

The title had been established, but the code was still undecided.

Butch DeLoria, head of the Tunnel Snakes gang. He liked the sound of that. Now all he needed to do was decide on a slogan, a creed, a _code_ for them to follow. Ruling the residential corridors of the Vault was a given, but they needed something specific to live by. Wally had suggested "camaraderie" or "fortitude," but Butch had no idea what those meant, and he automatically rejected any word or phrase that required him to crack open a dictionary. Sometimes he regretted befriending the smart, headstrong Mack boy—if only because he made him feel even dumber than normal—but he did have his uses.

Without Wally's tip, Butch wouldn't have thought to come down to the Vault reactor and rig the surrounding area with cherry bombs. No one had taken the formation of their gang seriously, especially when it consisted of three preteen boys. As the leader, he intended to fix that with a few small explosives and semi-artistic wall graffiti. The next time the technicians walked in, they'd have the pleasure of receiving a festive holiday greeting courtesy of the Tunnel Snakes. He could already see the look on the Overseer's face from the resulting report, and with unfettered glee, he snickered at the image.

The mechanical hum of the reactor grew louder as he descended the stairs to the lower level, a box of supplies in his arms. He had managed to slip away unnoticed from the dinner party at the atrium, thanks to Wally and Paul's disruptive and badly ad-libbed skit in the middle of the toasting. Confident that his friends' antics would keep the adults annoyed and busy for a while, he strode boldly onto the restricted floor and dropped the box in one corner.

A sudden popping noise from inside the generator room startled him. Even to a kid with zero technical knowledge, it sounded odd and out of place. He marched to the closed entrance, searching for the access panel to open it. Another pop came through the thick metal door, muffled but loud enough to raise his caution. He scratched his head and glanced toward the stairs, where he spotted the green and red switch on the wall. Hurrying over, he flipped it to green without hesitation and then jogged back to the now open doorway.

The hot barrel of a gun met his forehead.

"What the—!" he shrieked, eyes crossing to gape at the firearm.

"Butch?"

His temper flared as soon as he realized who it was. "Get this thing out of my face, nosebleed!"

Ivy withdrew the weapon, hazel eyes wide with surprise. She stood silhouetted against the brightness of the room's interior, and he had to squint to focus on her as she peered at him.

"It's just a BB gun, you know…"

He advanced on her and reached out to rip the long ponytail from her head. "Stupid! You coulda lodged a BB into my forehead at that range!"

"Oww! Let go, you jerk!" she screeched while kicking him in the shin until he released her hair. She hopped away with the BB gun halfway raised, glaring at him. "When I heard the door open, I thought you'd be… someone else."

"And you were gonna _shoot_ them? Whatever. Who was stupid enough to give a dumb girl like you a BB gun?" he demanded as he rubbed his bruising leg through the material of his jumpsuit. "And what're ya doin' down here, anyway, twerp?"

That last question drained the color from her face, and her plump lips pressed together. Butch straightened and, noticing her abrupt trepidation, leaned over to look behind her. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the makeshift shooting range at the far end of the floor. Three iron targets stood propped beyond a line of cement blocks, where more BB pellets lay strewn next to a small backpack. The arrangement was rough and messy, but adequate enough for real shooting practice. He stepped around her and tried to move closer, but she jumped into his path.

"Um! I could ask you the same thing!" she exclaimed hastily. "Aren't you supposed to be at that big dinner right now?"

"I asked you first," he snarled, shoving her out of the way. "And what's all this? You've been holdin' out on me, nosebleed. I should tell the Overseer about this setup."

"No! Jonas and my dad will get in trouble!"

Ivy clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words tumbled out, but Butch caught onto her error and slowly turned to her with a wicked sneer. He pushed his original objective to the back of his mind as he grasped at this new opportunity.

"So your dad and his assistant did all this, huh?" he asked, looming over her like a predator even though she was the one who was armed.

She brandished the BB gun in defense, but kept the muzzle pointed away from him. "This was their birthday present to me," she stammered. "They just wanted to give me a place and activity for myself…"

Butch felt his own expression harden as the familiar bitterness settled in. "Must be nice when Daddy has the money and time to get ya the good stuff," he spat, the acidity in his tone making her shrink further. "Well, too bad for you I found out. Wanna keep me quiet? Hand all of it over."

Ivy's features instantly went from fearful to indignant. "No way! They risked a lot to organize everything for me. I'm not just gonna give it up, especially to _you_."

His blood boiled at her nerve. "Fine, then. I guess I'll go run up to the Overseer right now and let him know—"

"Ugh, you're such a pain," she muttered, staring down at the weapon. He was about to go off on her for giving him lip when he had the upper hand, but then she asked, "What if we shared it?"

"That's retarded. How can two people shoot one BB gun?"

"I mean take turns with it. We'll both come down here a few days a week and take turns practicing our shots."

Butch glowered at her. "No deal. I want the whole thing or I'm telling."

She kept her gaze on the floor as her shoulders began to tremble. "I can't. This is my only place to go when I need to get away," she told him unevenly. "And my dad worked really hard to put it together for me. This is something I can't let you bully me out of, Butch."

He watched her quivering in front of him, an insult on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw how white her knuckles had gone as they clenched the BB gun, his anger subsided. This was different from her usual resistance, and although he wouldn't admit it to himself, the real distress in her demeanor bothered him.

 _I dunno what her deal is,_ he thought irately, _but if I snitch and she decides to cry and whine at me for the rest of my life, I'll probably die of irritation._

"All right, all right," he relented when the first crocodile tear rolled down her cheek. _Girls are so annoying._ "But I'm gonna want to come here every day so you'd better be up for it."

She nodded, wiping the dampness away. "I can deal with that." With practiced movements, she checked the loading door on the barrel before thrusting the BB gun at his chest. "Go try it out."

He grabbed it and tested its weight in his hands, liking the feel of the sleek metal. His father had promised him a BB gun many years ago but never delivered, so this was his first instance handling any sort of projectile weapon. As he eagerly stepped up to the cement blocks and arranged his position into something close to a bladed stance, Ivy spoke from behind him.

"So what were you doing when you came down here?" she inquired.

"Like I said, I asked you first," he replied, trying to concentrate on the center target. When he pulled the trigger, he didn't expect the slight recoil. A frown of dismay tugged the corners of his mouth downward as he missed by a longshot.

"Well, I didn't feel like going to the dinner this year so my dad just told everyone I was sick." She stood next to him and crossed her arms over her chest as he tried again. Declining to elaborate, she pressed, "So what's your excuse?"

"Tunnel Snake business," he answered. This time when he shot, his aim was so off that it ended up hitting the left target by mistake. "You know, my new gang that you'll never be a part of?"

"Oh, that reminds me," she said and went to rummage through her backpack. She returned to his side as he fired another BB that whizzed past its intended mark. "Nothing fancy or anything, but here."

Butch raised an eyebrow and lowered the BB gun to glance at the item she was holding out to him.

A silver and jade serpent pendant.

"What're ya giving this to me for?" he demanded suspiciously, though his gaze remained fixated on the large piece of jewelry.

She shrugged. "My dad said it's from outside the Vault. He gave it to me a while ago, but I heard you and your friends were starting to call yourselves 'Tunnel Snakes,' so I figured you might as well have it."

A muscle worked in his jaw as he deliberated with himself, but he eventually chose to smack it out of her hand, scowling as it landed on the floor with a clang. "I don't want your hand-me-down junk. Now get away so I can focus."

She lowered her head and retreated without a word, not bothering to pick it up. He forced himself to ignore her hurt expression as his fingers tinkered with the cocking lever of the BB gun. He didn't understand why she'd give him anything, but more than that, he couldn't fathom why she thought he would accept something she had previously owned.

_For all I know, that necklace could have cooties._

Still, even if he didn't want to think about it, he did realize one thing. She had been the only other person in the entire Vault to acknowledge the Tunnel Snakes.

Ivy clasped her hands behind her back and watched him miss the targets nine more times before piping up again. "Line your sights, squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it because it'll just throw off your aim."

"I don't need shooting tips from a girl," Butch snapped.

"No, for real—"

"You know what, how about you go to the cafeteria and get me something to drink from the vending machine?" he growled through gnashed teeth. Digging into his pocket, he took out a few pre-war bills and tossed them at her.

She caught them and curled her lip. "You already took over half my shooting area and even rejected the necklace. Now you want me to be your errand girl and grab refreshments for you?"

"So get something for yourself, too," he said sharply, keeping his eyes downrange. "That should be enough money to cover both of us."

She went quiet for a while, and he felt her steady gaze on him as she seemed to consider the implied offer. Finally, she nodded and gave his shoulder a light rap with her knuckles, which he didn't automatically flinch from, much to his own surprise.

"Merry Christmas, Butch," she told him on her way out.

He listened to her fading footsteps before muttering, "Yeah, whatever."

The silence drew on as he stood there, holding the BB gun and staring at the targets. His head felt a bit jumbled, but at the same time his muscles were lighter, less tense. Peeking quickly behind him, he turned back and pointed the weapon toward the middle target again.

_Line your sights, squeeze the trigger._

The resounding impact of the BB accompanied the swift spinning of the target when he scored a bull's-eye. His incredulous laughter filled the air, echoing in the large space as he lowered the BB gun and shook his head. Glimpsing the serpent pendant still lying on the floor, he paused and then bent down and scooped it up. The serpent itself was admittedly well-crafted, though he couldn't make out the strange lettering on the side. After a moment of inner debate, he stuffed it into his pocket.

 _We need a logo design, anyway,_ he reasoned. _I can just wash the cooties off of this thing._

He surveyed the area for a few minutes, wondering why someone as busy as Dr. Ashburn would go through all the trouble to put together and conceal this setup. The idea of a parent going to such lengths for their child was foreign to him, and every time he saw Ivy, she was a walking reminder of how different and inferior his home life really was compared to everyone else's. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten any present from his parents that was even worth mentioning. His mother habitually forgot his birthday and was always too drunk during the holidays to remember getting him anything for Christmas. As for his father…

Hank had always passed off old objects he didn't want as gifts. A rusted wrench, a tattered hat, a book with missing pages. He liked to claim that those items were part of the DeLoria family inheritance that should be passed down. Butch had called bullshit during each occurrence. The past three years he'd gotten nothing at all, and this year would be no different. His father had never failed to disappoint him throughout his life, a fact that was now too late to change.

His fingers around the stock and barrel of the BB gun tightened as he aimed one more time downrange. The face that came to mind on the target wasn't Dr. Ashburn's or even Ivy's.

He hit the bull's-eye once again, seeing his father in the center.

_Rest in peace, you good-for-nothin' jackass._


	4. Chapter 4

**(September 2276)**

He took a long drag of the cigarette and exhaled, rubbing his temple with two fingers as he watched the smoke billow out in front of him. Faint light streamed into the quiet hallway from the left corridor, and he welcomed the pitch black coming in from the right, the orange ash of his newest vice glowing in the darkness. He listened for Officer Kendall's heavy footfalls in case the nightly patrol route included this area, but his ears only picked up continuous silence.

Butch sat with his back against the wall, one knee pulled in to prop up the hand holding the cigarette while the other leg stretched out over the cold floor. He tried to tune out the residual echoes of his mother's intoxicated shrieking, where she denounced him for keeping his father's memory alive just through his looks. Faulted him for her ongoing misery. Blamed him for existing. Like he could help any of it. He knew—or hoped—she never meant anything she said during these tantrums, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with her tonight.

His mind wandered until it inevitably settled on the topic that plagued him day in and day out for two months. He wrestled with the knowledge that had been hoisted upon his shoulders, torn between ignoring it and investigating it. So far, he'd managed to do neither, choosing instead to mull over it and wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. Whatever he had witnessed that day appeared to be clandestine in nature and unknown to the rest of the Vault residents, including family members of the parties involved. He brought the cigarette back to his mouth as he stared at the opposite wall, seeing nothing but the faded luster of Ivy's once vibrant eyes.

She had all but vanished a month ago. Prior to that, he had caught glimpses of her in the halls, but never for more than a second, never long enough to flag her down. He often found himself drifting in her direction without meaning to, her name on his lips, before realization struck and had him biting his tongue. Her situation wasn't his business, and even if he interfered, he was probably the last person she'd want playing the hero. Not that he'd want to, anyway. He frequently justified his inaction by convincing himself that she was none of his concern. Yet, when she hadn't been sighted around the Vault for four weeks, his thoughts never strayed far from her.

Stevie seemed more aggravated than usual as of late. Butch deduced that Ivy hadn't been in his clutches, either, during this period. It was almost a relief to know that the corrupt security trainee wasn't shoving more drugs or his dick into her, at least for a while. But that nagging feeling at the base of Butch's skull suggested an agitated conscience that wouldn't let him drop the matter. Although he didn't like the idea, he might have to decide on something soon, be it bashing Stevie's face in or inflicting blunt trauma to his own head in an effort to cause amnesia. Anything that would stop Ivy's anguished sobs from infiltrating his dreams.

Butch jolted and stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his boot when he heard footsteps pattering from the corridor on the left. He sat very still, willing himself invisible as someone entered the hallway and stopped at the first door near the corner. The light of the Pip-Boy in the distance illuminated the individual's face enough for him to make it out, and he drew in a breath as recognition hit him at once.

 _Well, damn… speak of the missing devil,_ he thought, watching Ivy glance around before darting into the cafeteria. _Looks like the devil's back and up to no good._

Curiosity bid him to rise and led him down the hallway to peek into the dark interior. He heard the telltale clicking of a bobby pin at work farther inside, and he tiptoed closer as she broke into the community liquor stash with ease. He was familiar with the hidden cooler inside the stockroom from when his parents used to turn in their allotted alcohol tokens each week, but he never thought he'd see the straitlaced Ivy Ashburn stealing a handle of whiskey out of it in the middle of the night.

Then again, considering recent events, he couldn't blame the alteration in her behavior.

"Uh, you sure that's a good idea there?" he asked without thinking.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, managing to catch the glass bottle before it hit the floor but dropping a few other items she'd been holding under her arm. Her flashlight shook as she pointed it toward him. "Butch?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he whispered back. Awkwardness set in when he realized this was the first time they'd spoken in close to two years. "Saw ya come in while I was… hangin' around. What's the deal sneakin' in here and swipin' shit?"

Ivy blinked a few times when he turned on his flashlight and shined it back at her. Now that he was up close and able to get a better look, his lips parted at her frail appearance. Dark circles weighed down her eyes, accompanied by cheeks that had become gaunt, as if she'd lost an alarming amount of weight. Her hair hung in dull and uneven chunks over her shoulders; a bad hacking job she likely did herself. She gripped the handle of whiskey to her chest with one bony hand as she dismissed him with the turn of her head.

"Please leave me alone. This is none of your business," she told him in clipped tones.

_Like I didn't already fuckin' know that._

The rising wave of irritation plummeted as soon as she bent over to shut the cooler door, and he saw how loosely her jumpsuit hung on her frame. What had happened to this girl in the past month? Suddenly, he needed to know. All that time spent mentally replaying and denying what he'd seen and heard in Stevie's room culminated into an unyielding wish for answers. He needed her to validate her persistent presence in his thoughts, needed her to prove there was nothing he could have done, nothing he could do. In the end it was all about freeing him from the burden of her situation, and he knew he was a selfish bastard for it, but he'd never claimed to be anything else.

In a desperate attempt to stop her from shutting him out, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Say, I ain't no doctor or anything, but isn't liquor like bad for knocked up broads?"

She froze, fingers tightening briefly on the neck of the bottle. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she straightened and pinned him with the desolate gaze of someone long dead. "Yes. Good thing I'm not pregnant. Not anymore."

Her words—spoken so casually, so void of emotion—chilled him to the bone.

Butch struggled to maintain an air of apathy. "Oh. So, uh… are you good? Okay, I mean?"

"The better question," she said, picking up her things and exiting the stockroom, "is how did you find out?"

He fidgeted on the spot. "Well… it started with Stevie, see—"

"Stevie." His name came out like a sour taste on her mouth. "I don't know what he's been telling people—or bragging about—in my absence, but I can guarantee none of it is the full story."

 _He hasn't said squat, but I got a front seat view of the full story, thanks,_ Butch thought grimly. Still, he hesitated in telling her that he'd been there, hiding with his ears covered like a little bitch as Stevie violated her in front of him. It was bad enough when his conscience played the scene on repeat in his head; it would be downright impossible for him to look her in the eye and tell her he'd sat idly by and let it happen.

"Seriously, though. Where the hell have you been?" he demanded out loud, aware that he sounded somewhat anxious. Worried, even. Maybe he actually was. Maybe he didn't care if she caught onto it. "And what's up with…"

He trailed off when he stepped forward and noticed the multiple pill bottles she cradled in her left arm. His eyes flickered to the whiskey in her right hand, and while he was far from being the most astute man to walk the Vault, even he could put two and two together. He felt his stomach turn to lead, felt an unwarranted rush of anger—toward her, Stevie, or himself, he wasn't sure. But it seared its way up his spine and flowed out to his limbs as it took over the locomotion in his body.

"For fuck's sake, Ivy," he growled, seizing the collar of her jumpsuit and toting her protesting form along behind him toward the exit. "Come on. We gotta talk."

He half-dragged, half-carried her through the dark corridors when she continued to resist. Given her malnourished state, she didn't put up much of a fight, and she had the good sense to refrain from making too much noise. He avoided the areas he knew to be under patrol tonight, taking the long way around to the lower levels of the Vault until they reached the only place where they would be completely alone and unwatched: the generator room.

He deposited her on the cement blocks where they’d stood and practiced their BB gun shooting years ago, though the targets were now rusted over from neglect and a film of dust covered the floor. A broken wall fixture drew his attention for a brief moment as he went to shut the door, but once he marched back over to where she sat, his sight locked onto the line of pill bottles—five in all—next to the whiskey she had placed beside her on the blocks. She stared off to the side, expression blank.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he asked in a pitch too shrill for his liking. "I know the whole goddamn jig, Ivy, but never thought suicide was your style."

She glanced up at him, something finally moving in those bleak hazel irises. "What, so you're using my real name now? No 'nosebleed,' no 'Poindexter' or anything?" The question intoned neither spite nor resentment, just a vague interest in the change in his attitude.

"Yeah, well…"

"And when you say you know the 'whole goddamn jig,' I'm guessing Stevie was the source of this information?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, discomfort quickly overtaking his righteous fury not one minute ago. "That's right." It was technically the truth; had it not been for Stevie's confiscation of his Toothpick and serpent pendant, Butch would never have discovered their private affairs.

Ivy dropped her gaze and leaned forward to wrap her arms around herself. "And I assume you're not impressed by however way he worded it. So why are we here? What do you want?"

Butch worked to form an answer, but even he was uncertain what he expected now that he had brought them here. "I… don't know." At last, an honest response. And with that one wedge of honesty, most of the rest came pouring forth. "But I'm done keeping my mouth shut when I know what's been happening between you and that son of a bitch. You and me, we don't got the best history, but we go way back and what he's doing to you is fuckin' wrong."

She laughed then, a mirthless bark that slapped him in the face. "Oh, this is rich. My childhood bully spouting his sense of justice on my behalf. Please stop, you're sounding like you actually care, and it's creepy."

Well, at least she didn't seem so much like a living ghost now.

He still bristled, feeling vulnerable for even having this conversation. "Okay, look. I've dealt with knowing about it for two months, but I didn't think you were planning on killing yourself."

She shrugged as if waving off a minor inconvenience. "As… bewildering as this intervention is, it's not going to change a thing. Once you leave, I'm going to take these sleeping pills, tranquilizers, and pain killers and chug this liquor straight from the bottle. And," she added when his hand twitched, "even if you take them away, as a medical intern I have access to the clinic's entire pharmacy and an endless supply of bobby pins. You're wasting your time here, Butch."

Even if he was, he wouldn't turn back now. "I just gotta ask, though. You said you're not pregnant anymore. What happened?"

Sometimes, he wished his mother didn't begrudge him for being born. Often, he wished she hadn't kept on the bottle and knocked points off his IQ when he was a fetus. But never had he wished that she had terminated him in utero. As shitty as his life was, it was still a life, and he was glad for the chance to live it.

Ivy's features closed off again. "I miscarried. Spent the past month in a room in the clinic recuperating."

 _So that's where she's been._ Butch tore his gaze away. "Uh… sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Stevie was sorry enough for all of us. 'Accidentally' pushed me down the stairs after he found out I lost the baby. Bet he didn't pass that bit of info around. I didn't think he'd want the damn thing so bad, but the compiled injuries had me bedridden for weeks." Bitterness had crept in, restoring a sense of humanity to her soulless demeanor. "Last time he visited me, he said he even wanted to try for another one. Unbelievable, right?"

Butch's mouth dropped open in incredulity. He wondered if Wally and Susie were even aware of how much of a psychopath their brother really was. "Jesus. Well, what does your dad have to say about all this? The doc seems like a pretty level-headed guy, but considering…"

She lowered her head as her fingers dug into her arms. "He doesn't know the extent of it, but he found drugs in my system when he tested my blood after the miscarriage. He and I… aren't speaking right now. I'm such a disappointment and failure that he can't even look at me."

Butch didn't know what to say to that, but he could understand the pain of parental rejection. He almost snickered at himself, not quite believing that he was experiencing some sort of fellowship with the girl he'd always hated for having the ideal family life. Only now, she had fallen far from the pedestal he'd placed her on, and even he didn't delude himself into thinking that she had deserved any of it.

"Why don't you tell your old man the whole story? Show him that Stevie's one crazy motherfucker?"

"No. It would only complicate things, and I don't want to give my dad more trouble than I already have."

 _That's some cowardly bull right there,_ Butch seethed a bit hypocritically. But before he could verbalize his opinion, she continued speaking.

"I'm going to make it easier on everyone and just take myself out of the picture," Ivy declared, reaching for the bottles. "So if we're done here, I should go station myself next to the incinerator so they won't have to haul my corpse too far."

He sprang forward and knocked the pills and alcohol away from her. They all rolled over the dusty floor as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook fiercely. "Fuck if I'll let you. I ain't the most decent guy and I don't care if you hate my guts, but right now I'm the closest thing you got to a voice of reason."

_Fuck forgetting. Fuck pretending I didn't see nothin'. Damn, Ivy… this changes everything._

She studied him, calculation churning in the depths of her eyes. "You know, there's a twisted kind of irony to your enthusiasm in stopping this, Butch. And not just because you were my tormentor when we were kids," she stated with that steady resonance he knew so well. "But because you're the sole reason all of this even started."


	5. Chapter 5

**(June 2274)**

“Yo, Wally, what do you think my chances are with your sister?”

Wally cringed with revulsion from his spot near the atrium entrance. “That’s something I really don’t want to think about.”

“I mean with takin’ her to the dance,” Butch clarified, sneering as he walked over and nudged his friend in the ribs with his elbow. “What did ya think I was talkin’ about?”

“Urgh, don’t even—hold up, _you’re_ planning on going to the dance?” his fellow Tunnel Snake asked in disbelief.

Butch smirked and flipped up the collar of his jacket before sliding a hand over his hair. “Yeah. Figured, y’know, it’s time for the Butch-man to get his smooth sexy on with the ladies.”

Wally’s derisive snort popped his bubble with a stab of annoyance. “Well, be my guest. I’m not going to be caught dead at these stupid school functions—”

“I was actually thinking of going, too,” Paul chimed in, peering through the open doorway at some of their classmates putting together decorations.

“See? And the rookie is, too. Right, Freddie?” Butch stared hard at the newest member of the gang, who stood attentively next to Paul.

“Sure thing,” Freddie replied with utmost enthusiasm. Then he paused and added, “Uh, we’re not going to cause any trouble, are we?”

“Nah.” Butch stepped around Wally and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he watched the group of girls hanging streamers inside. “This’ll be a special Tunnel Snake R&R event. Grab a chick, make her heart melt, maybe get lucky at the end of the night.”

Wally’s features instantly twisted into a scowl. “If you’re going with Susie and that last part happens, let me be blissfully ignorant and spare me the details,” he said, ignoring Butch’s eye roll. His jacket dragged against the wall as he shifted to poke his head around the doorframe. “Well, since you losers are getting your participation points in, I guess I can take Christine Kendall.”

Freddie gaped at him. “Dude, isn’t she your cousin?”

Wally barely blinked. “I’m not going as her date, I’m going as her bodyguard. Saving at least one of the girls in my family from punks like you guys.”

“Who are you gonna take, rookie?” Butch questioned without turning around, as his eyes were glued to Susie Mack’s well-developed chest at the far end of the atrium.

“I dunno, maybe Amata Almodovar?”

The other Tunnel Snakes burst into laughter at once.

“Princess 101? You serious, man?” Butch chortled, shooting an amused look toward the Overseer’s daughter, who was busy supervising the set up process. “Oh boy, never mind the five security guards her daddy will assign to her hip. That uptight personality is enough to make you want to keep your hands to yourself.”

Freddie scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Aw, come on, she’s not that bad,” he mumbled defensively. “She’s actually pretty nice when you get on her good side.”

“Case in point: I’m never on her good side.” Still chuckling, Butch swung a playful fist at Paul’s shoulder. “What about you, buddy?”

Had it not been for his dark complexion, Paul’s cheeks might have glowed red at that moment. His shy gaze settled on his desired date. “I’ve been meaning to ask Ivy Ashburn.”

Butch’s grin disappeared. He followed the other boy’s line of sight to Ivy’s slender figure balancing on a ladder, several rolls of ribbon in hand. She stood out amongst the girls with her long auburn hair and easy smile, but Butch was hard-pressed to come up with any other distinguishing traits that branded her as attractive in his book.

Just from spending hours with her at target practice every week, he had memorized the pattern of blemishes and acne scars on her cheeks and forehead. While her hazel eyes, straight nose, and shapely lips made for an aesthetically pleasing face, the rest of her hadn’t filled out enough to offer any sex appeal. He refused to believe he was blinded by his prejudice against her, even as Paul practically drooled from beside him and Wally murmured his agreement that she wasn’t a bad choice.

“What the fuck, you guys are makin’ goo-goo eyes at _Poindexter_?” Butch scoffed, suddenly very peeved.

“Hey, what’s hot is hot,” Wally responded with a shrug.

The Tunnel Snake leader felt a burning need to argue. “You two should get your eyes checked. Rookie, back me up on this.”

Freddie’s deer-in-headlights look didn’t bode well for support. “But, um… the doc’s kid _has_ kind of turned out to be a looker…”

“For the love of—you know what? Whatever. Have fun with that, Paul.” He shook off his irritation and smoothed his hair one more time before stepping forward. “All right. Let’s go get ‘em, boys.”

When none of them followed his lead after several seconds, he whirled around and found them inching toward the opposite direction instead.

“Sorry, but I really don’t want to witness you putting the moves on my little sister,” Wally declared, already halfway down the corridor.

Paul, at least, attempted to appear apologetic as he backed away. “I’d rather wait till Ivy’s alone to ask her. Quite frankly, Butch, if you’re around she’ll probably turn me down on the spot.”

“And I need to work up the nerve to approach Amata,” Freddie added, right behind them. “We’ll see ya later.”

Butch glared at all three traitors as they retreated to the stairs leading to the upper level. “Ya bunch of wusses!”

_So much for brotherhood and shit. Eh, who needs ‘em?_

He gave his jacket hem a sharp tug and marched into the atrium, chest inflated with self-confidence. The heavy steps of his boots reverberated throughout the wide space and caught the attention of several people, who paused in their work to watch him warily. Edwin Brotch, now the “new Mr. Brotch” ever since his father stepped down as the head teacher, glanced up from the table assemblage section and muttered, “Oh, brother…” as Butch reached Susie’s group.

As if on cue, Amata wedged herself in the way. “What do you want? If you and your fellow delinquents are planning any juvenile pranks to sabotage this dance, I will personally see to it that you face disciplinary action,” she snapped, looking like she wanted to take the clipboard in her hands and break it over his head.

Through his peripheral vision, he noticed Ivy’s attention on him as she climbed down the ladder.

He raised his arms in a placating gesture. “Relax, princess. I’ll actually be partaking in this _thrilling_ event. I’m just here to offer to make one of these ladies my date.”

Amata’s skeptical frown persisted even as Mr. Brotch called for her assistance. “I’m watching you, DeLoria.”

He bit back a sarcastic reply and proceeded past her, heading straight for Susie. Glitter sparkled from her sable hair as she embellished dozens of hanging ornaments on the floor. Deeply engaged in her task, she didn’t acknowledge his presence until he happened to crush one of her crafts under his foot.

“Hey! What gives?” she demanded, glowering up at him.

“Whoops, my bad. So Susie,” Butch started, striking a languid pose with his thumbs hooked through his front belt loops, “how would you like to go to this dance on the arm of a Tunnel Snake?”

The glower immediately transformed into a smile. “With Freddie Gomez?”

Butch’s suave act faltered as his lip curled. “What? No! I’m talking about me.” _Jeez, what’s with the girls around here liking that guy, anyway?_

“Oh.” Susie’s face fell a little, but she gave him an appreciative once-over. “Well, you’re no Freddie, but you _are_ pretty cute…”

“You know what else is cute about him? The way he scratches his balls when he thinks no one’s looking,” Ivy remarked from the base of the ladder, arms folded in front of her as she regarded them with an unreadable countenance.

Susie wrinkled her nose and scooted away from him. “Eww, what?”

Butch’s eyes flashed with malice at Ivy as his temper spiked. “Shut the hell up, you bitch. That ain’t true.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, it’s even cuter that you can spontaneously fall asleep in the middle of conversation… and even start drooling during your nap,” his nemesis went on, pulling no punches. “And Susie, if you end up as his date, keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in your purse. Sometimes he forgets to wash his hands after taking a piss.”

In fewer than twenty seconds, she had effectively obliterated any chance he had with _any_ of the girls listening in. As Susie’s expression grew more and more revolted, Butch lost his cool and lunged for Ivy, fully intending on strangling her. She dodged him and prepared to block any further attacks, but Mr. Brotch chose that instant to holler from across the floor.

“Break it up! You two got a score to settle, take it outside. Away from all the props and décor.”

_Gladly._

Wasting no time, Butch curled his fingers into the front of Ivy’s jumpsuit and dragged her roughly toward the exit. No one interfered even as she dug her heels into the floor and scratched at the exposed skin of his arm. Once outside, he yanked her around the corner and shoved her forward, taking great satisfaction in the sound of her smaller frame hitting the wall. She swore and tried to turn to him, but he slammed her back against the cold surface, catching her wrists in one hand and pinning her body with his so that her backside was pressed up against his front. Possessed by unadulterated fury, he drove a fist into the wall next to her head, denting the metal and prompting a startled cry as he brought his lips to her ear.

“What the fuck was that in there?” he growled, twisting the limbs trapped in his grip. “You got a goddamn death wish with that smart fuckin’ mouth of yours, Poindexter?”

“God, I was just messing around, Butch,” she gasped as his weight crushed her.

He bared his teeth when the flowery scent of her hair wafted up to fill his senses. “Didn’t sound like you were messin’ around. You totally had it out for me. Why?”

“I didn’t.” She started a futile struggle to escape, yielding only after conceding she was no match for him physically. “It was just some fun, and I got carried away. Sorry, sheesh.”

The serpent pendant dug into his chest under his shirt as he pressed against her harder. “Well, sorry doesn’t cut it. Your ‘fun’ cost me more than your stupid brain will ever realize. How’re you gonna make it up to me?”

Ivy craned her neck to peer at him from the corner of her eye. “Let me go and I’ll think of something.”

Their faces were so close together that her full lashes brushed against his jaw. He stiffened at the contact and tightened his hold on her when she resumed squirming. “I’m warnin’ you—”

She paid no heed to the unspoken threat and kept shifting around, inadvertently rubbing against him. “Butch…”

Something about the way she said his name, voice breathless and husky, elicited an undesired reaction from his anatomy. He felt himself go hard as her ass ground into his crotch, and his hips pushed closer of their own accord to feel more of her feminine shape. In a fit of panic, he abruptly released her, stepping back while trying to disguise the tent rising in his jumpsuit. His ire increased tenfold as she rotated and glared at him, auburn locks tussled and framing her face in a manner all too appealing.

“You’re a damn animal,” she hissed, massaging the marks on her wrists even as a peculiar gleam shone in those hazel eyes.

Butch cursed the wanton betrayal of his own body, especially when his subconscious began to identify the captivating qualities that had Paul so mesmerized. Despite her lack of glamour and girlishness, Ivy had a natural allure in the way she moved, the way she looked at him. A rose flush had crept to her cheeks, and she tucked a few tendrils of hair behind her ear, gaze fiery and intense. Her lips had reddened from the heat that radiated between them, and he gulped when he caught himself staring, wondering how they would taste.

_Fuck… what the hell’s wrong with me? This is Poindexter, for cryin’ out loud._

His anger had switched from outrage to simmering dismay, and in an effort to escape the electrifying tension, he decided to cut the confrontation short. “This ain’t over,” he rumbled, words coming out more feeble than ominous.

Without waiting for her to answer, he spun on his heel and hurried away. Confusion and denial trailed him as he stomped through the Vault corridors, silently trying to justify his wayward reaction to the brat he’d never seen in that sort of light before. The physical proximity had to have been the culprit, coupled with the fact that he was a healthy teenage male who had yet to get laid. Plus, his amplified rage might have gotten muddled during the encounter.

 _Yeah, that’s it,_ he told himself. _I’m just all wound up and looking to tap some tail. Not like I find her hot for real or anything._

And as he buried his unsettling emotions deep within his psyche, his spite returned at the thought of her unforgivable transgressions. Her behavior back in the atrium puzzled him almost as much as it provoked his wrath. They had never gotten along in all the time they’d known each other, but that purposeful intent to humiliate him had come straight out of left field. It had been so uncharacteristic of Ivy, whom he’d always considered relatively passive and innocuous. According to him, she had crossed a line, one he wouldn’t allow to go unpunished.

He took the familiar path to the generator room, ensuring no spectators were around before slipping inside. The lights automatically flickered on at his entry, and as he trudged to one corner adjacent to the door, he spared a glimpse at the shooting area he and Ivy had occupied just the previous day. Then, climbing a few pieces of dilapidated machinery, he reached up and plucked the hidden camera from its perch atop one of the broken wall fixtures.

Butch examined the small device, glad he had talked Paul into letting him borrow it so he could set it up this year. After they’d taken the G.O.A.T., Ivy had become real cheeky when she found out she’d be on the medical track in her father’s footsteps. Her availability for shooting practice also became sparser, and since she kept the BB gun with her at her apartment, he had grown frustrated enough to think of new ways of encouraging her to make more time for him and their practice sessions. The camera had been set to record them while they shot at the targets, but he regularly deleted all traces of his presence in the video segments. He’d kept his lips sealed about the room for years, and as far as he was concerned, she’d broken her end of the bargain.

So now, with the camera and chip of recordings in hand, he was collecting the collateral.

He left the reactor level and proceeded back up through the Vault. Grim determination led him to the admin floor, all the way to the closed door of the Overseer’s office. But as he raised his hand to knock, he hesitated. Ivy and her father had this coming for sure. People revered them and held them to higher standards, unaware that the picture perfect citizens broke rules just like everyone else. Butch knew better, and his resentment had never waned. They didn’t deserve all that merit. They didn’t deserve the widespread respect. And most of all, he and his mother didn’t deserve to be considered beneath them.

Butch’s antipathy remained constant, yet biased as he was, he still wavered outside the office. His thoughts drifted to the days he’d spent with Ivy, to the competition and rivalry he’d built with her. Amidst the bad blood, they’d forged an implicit connection that linked them together whether they liked it or not. It thrived in their contention, binding them so that their eyes sought each other wherever they went, if only to exchange glares of hostility. Time had flown by in a blur, and he realized he and Ivy had been shooting together for close to six years now.

His hand lowered to his side. Enemy or not, the history between them was there, and the bond was so substantial in its conflicting nature that he promptly rejected the notion of the Overseer’s involvement. He would have to think of another way to retaliate.

Butch wandered back to the floor leading to the apartments, snarling, “Fucking Ivy,” over and over again under his breath as he racked his brain for an alternative form of retribution.

“Say, DeLoria, what was that about Ivy?” a deep voice asked from behind him.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to find Stevie Mack leaning against the exterior of the rec room, arms crossed and expression oppressive. Butch had never liked the severe look about Stevie, but he paused as he felt the camera through the pocket of his jumpsuit.

“Hey, you’re about to switch into the security career field, right?” Butch inquired, already seeing the potential for the new idea that blossomed in his head.

Stevie grunted an affirmative. “Why?”

“If you make it in, I got somethin’ that could boost you into a promotion early on.” Butch glanced left and right before he produced the camera and tossed it to Stevie.

“What’s this?”

“Some dirt on Ivy Ashburn. The stuff you’ll see in there? Dr. Ashburn and Jonas Palmer set all of it up. I had a feeling she was up to somethin’ so I installed a hidden cam to catch her in the act.”

Stevie’s eyebrows drew together, creasing his forehead as he stared down at the object in his palm. “Yeah? And what’s in it for you?”

Butch sneered and began walking away. “Nothin’, really. As long as the bitch pays.”


	6. Chapter 6

**(November 2276)**

Dr. Ashburn gathered the papers into the medical file and nodded to the patient awaiting further instructions. "That concludes your annual physical, Mr. DeLoria. You may go."

Butch zipped up his jumpsuit and slid off the examination table, mouth set in a straight line as he studied the physician's haggard features and graying hair. The toll of the past few months had manifested in a gruffer demeanor and snappier attitude, characteristics that threw off the other residents enough to instigate whispered rumors throughout the Vault. James Ashburn, much like his daughter, had become someone almost unrecognizable. And other than the individuals directly involved, only Butch knew the true reason for the change.

As pangs of guilt hammered at his conscience, he asked a question he already knew the answer to. "So, Doc… how's Ivy doing these days?"

Suspicion clouded Dr. Ashburn's face at once, and he swung his gaze to the younger man, a hard edge in his voice. "Interesting that you should inquire about Ivy, Butch. If I recall, you and my daughter have always had an antagonistic relationship. She's going through a rough time with her health right now, so unless you have something to tell me regarding her condition, I would appreciate it if you left her alone."

 _Okay, so I had that coming._ "Yes, sir," Butch replied, looking away. "You and Ivy won't be gettin' no trouble from me, honest."

"I'm glad to hear that," Dr. Ashburn declared. "Especially since that necklace you're wearing is hers."

Butch's hand closed briefly around the serpent pendant beneath his clothing, but he didn't offer an explanation as he grabbed his jacket and exited the clinic in long strides, unable to stand up to a grieving father's animosity. That short exchange did tell him one thing, though. Dr. Ashburn still didn't know who had gotten Ivy pregnant. All remaining resentment toward the Ashburns that Butch held onto for Hank's sake had been eclipsed by the revelation that he'd had a hand in Ivy's ordeal. One careless action two years prior had set off the chain of events leading to the very thing he'd wanted in the first place: the destruction of the Ashburns' idyllic family life.

But ironically, he was now the one doing everything he could to repair it.

The cafeteria was packed when he walked in, and had it not been out of necessity, he wouldn't have bothered stopping by during lunch hour. Freddie waved to him from one of the booths, a greeting he returned before maneuvering around several people to stand in line for the food dispenser. He adjusted his jacket while waiting impatiently, enduring the constant stream of bodies that bumped into him from both sides in the disorder. The volume of chatter and noise had reached intolerable levels, but he kept himself in check until it came his turn to make his selection for a quick meal. He swiped a protein shake and a pastry and wove his way back outside, checking the time on his Pip-Boy.

The voice that flagged him down had him bristling with agitation.

"Hey, Butch," Wally called, strolling up from his left. "I got what you asked for and dropped it off at your place. Your mom wasn't home, but the door was unlocked so I left it in the living room."

Butch nodded, making a mental note to remind Ellen to lock the front door whenever she ventured out for coffee. "All right, cool. Thanks, man."

"What do you need it for, anyway?"

"Uh… y'know, just in case we do some restructuring in the gang down the road. Oh, will ya look at the time," Butch remarked as he made a big show of glancing down at his Pip-Boy. "Wish I could stay and chat, but I gotta go—"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that." Wally moved to block his path, frowning. "Where've you been lately? We barely see you anymore and whenever we do, you're always running off somewhere like you're chasing down the goddamn Holy Grail."

Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Butch answered, "I'm just busy with setting up the barber shop and everything."

Wally fixed him with a disbelieving stare, but the opportunity to say anything else passed when Butch stepped around him and proceeded down the hall. The Tunnel Snakes' misgivings about his unknown activities were both understandable and troublesome; and if left unaddressed, potentially problematic. He knew he needed to concoct a more feasible explanation for his frequent absences, but at this moment, his priorities lay elsewhere.

He broke into a jog once he rounded the corner, boots leaving black marks on the newly waxed floor as he flew past the exasperated custodian still lugging around an armful of cleaning equipment. The automated door to the apartments swished open for him, and he continued forward through the main residential corridor without slowing down. A quick survey of the area confirmed it was vacant, which meant being discreet wasn't as crucial today.

The stairs leading to the upper apartments loomed ahead of him, and he gripped the food items in the crook of his right arm as he came to a stop at the base. Out of breath, he leaned against the railing and listened for any approaching footsteps. Half a minute later, a disheveled figure appeared at the top.

Ivy sighed the instant he entered her field of vision, her shoulders slumping as she trudged down each step. "You again?"

Butch straightened and glared up at her. "Don't know why you're still so surprised. We've been at this every day for two months straight," he snapped, noticing her unsteady descent. "I even memorized your damn schedule."

"And here I was hoping to evade you this time."

"Yeah, yeah, you and your wishful thinking," he said irritably and took her elbow with his free hand. "Come on. I got somethin' to talk to you about."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I won't want to hear it," she retorted just as she stumbled over her own feet and nearly fell.

Butch held her up and then hauled her toward him, grasping her chin with his thumb and index finger. "Jesus," he murmured, gazing into her dilated pupils. "You're on Jet again?"

She shushed him and peered around the empty corridor in alarm. "We're not discussing this out here. He's upstairs and could come down any minute."

"Goddammit. Can't fucking believe you're still meeting up with that bastard."

Ivy's eyes bore into his, the condemnation written all over her face. "Well, I still don't have a choice, do I?"

Butch muttered a stream of profanity and placed his palm on the small of her back to propel her forward. "Let's go. We're heading to my place."

She shuffled along with deep reluctance, shooting him the occasional vexed look as he steered her down the adjacent hallway leading to his residence. A few of his neighbors observed them with evident curiosity, but he ignored the scrutiny and ushered her inside. As the door slid shut behind them, he grimaced at the sight of the empty liquor bottles scattered all over the floor, coffee table, and couch. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the air, something he never paid much attention to until now, when Ivy stood frozen next to him before the sea of decay known as his living room.

He switched on the lights that had forfeited their automatic capabilities years ago, and even then only half of them flickered to life. Marching ahead of Ivy, he glanced at the article of clothing draped over the sofa chair while kicking a clear path toward the kitchen. She trailed after him when he directed her to the relatively uncluttered dining room table and sat down as he set the protein shake and pastry in front of her.

"Lunch. Eat it," he ordered, taking the seat across from her.

Ivy scowled, but accepted the food at his stern glower. The crinkling sound of the pastry wrapper cut through the awkward silence, and she blinked down at it once the white icing came into view. "A sweetroll?"

Butch busied himself with brushing the dust off the table. "It ain't homemade like the one I took on your tenth birthday, but I figured I owed you one or whatever."

Her features softened a little. "I'm honestly surprised you remembered that."

He shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "Doesn't mean nothin'. Just eat it."

She did so, looking less grudging. As she took a bite of the sweetroll, his eyes roved over her tangled hair and the outlines of bones still protruding through her skin. His diligence in bringing her meals and ensuring she consumed them had started her body on the road to recovery, but despite his efforts, her frame remained scrawny and frail. And if she was back on chems, her health would be compromised even further.

Something in his chest tightened when she wrapped clumsy fingers around the protein shake bottle and tried to pry the cap off. He reached for it and wordlessly opened it for her, his restlessness growing as she took a long gulp. Watching her here in his apartment was so surreal that he wondered if he'd wake up from this dream at any second. He kept his poker face on as a flurry of unidentified emotions fought for dominance inside him, kindled by a few mannerisms of the old Ivy showing through.

The crumbs on the corner of her mouth, the way her tongue darted out to lap up the icing on her thumb—both images conjured memories of better days long past. Though stormy in nature, it had been a simpler time. His belligerence back then seemed so trivial whenever he reminisced, yet even now he still had difficulty coming to terms with his own remorse.

Once Ivy finished her lunch, her penetrating stare pierced through him. "So tell me again why you're even doing all this for me?"

Butch's spine stiffened at the unexpected inquiry. "Well, who else is gonna look after you and make sure you don't do something stupid?"

"That's exactly it… why are _you_ looking after me?" she demanded. "You've been riding my heels since September."

His hands fidgeted in his jacket pockets, and the seconds ticked by as he searched for an adequate response. "Last I heard, you and your old man still haven't patched things up. Saw him earlier when I got my physical done. With things the way they are, I'm guessin' you don't got anyone else to make sure you get better and stuff."

"I'm not your problem, Butch."

He frowned at her. "As long as Stevie's in the picture, yeah you are."

Ivy scoffed, a harsh smile stretching over her lips. "Okay, I get it. You want to ease your own conscience that badly?"

The tension immediately thickened between them. He rose from his chair and grasped the edges of the table, his blood burning with rage at the verbal jab. Although her expression didn't change as he loomed over her, he saw the reflexive fear flash across her eyes.

"I'm owning up to my mistakes," he growled, the worn wood cracking beneath his fingertips. "I'm tryin' to fix them. The blackmail, the drugs, the pregnancy, none of this shit was supposed to happen when I gave that fucker the footage of the shooting sessions."

Ivy returned his fierce gaze, seeming to suppress her anxiety. "Yeah, but isn't this what you always wanted? My life in ruins? For a dumbass, you managed to get everything to play out perfectly. What was it you said back when we first met in the classroom? I'm 'done for.'"

"Don't even fuckin' go there," Butch snarled as he pushed himself from the table. The heavy kick of his boot sent his chair crashing into a nearby wall. "I'm tryin' to do right by you now that all this shit is for real. At least give me some goddamn credit."

"Oh, you already have a lot of credit in this mess," Ivy snapped, voice rising to a volume he hadn't heard from her in a long time. "Fixing your mistakes? Those are some pretty words, considering that nothing has changed and I still have to spread my legs for Stevie Mack."

He braced himself on one of the counters, muscles taut underneath his jacket. "I said a month ago that I'd break into his apartment and steal back the recordings, so why'd you stop me?"

"Even if you did that and tore down the shooting range, those aren't the only things he has on me anymore," she shot back. "He took a page from your book and recorded me doing his chems, among other things, and that alone is enough to discredit my dad."

Butch cursed viciously as she crushed the empty bottle with her fist and continued talking.

"If I had just 'checked out' like I wanted to, he'd have no reason to hold anything over my dad and I wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore." The venom poured from her mouth in unrelenting waves. "But even that choice was taken from me."

A noise of frustration rumbled from his throat, and he mussed up his hair to restrain himself from punching the cupboards in. For someone who wasn't accustomed to taking responsibility for his actions in the first place, having to deal with the endless torrent of blame was downright agonizing. The worst part was the truth in each bitter statement she threw his way, and he almost wished he hadn't bothered with repentance if this was how it was going to be.

At the same time, however, he couldn't protest the treatment. Compared to what Ivy had gone through, he had it easy. She was still under suicide watch, though he liked to think he had helped her off the brink through his presence and anecdotal accounts of his mother's own struggles with wanting to kill herself. Survival was something he could sell, and he needed Ivy to buy into it. The fact that she was still here accepting his company instead of getting carted off to the incinerator convinced him that he might be doing something right.

He glimpsed her in his peripherals as she curled up in her chair and faced away from him. Small victories aside, he couldn't help feeling that she was a ticking clock. They were on a time limit, and the countdown slowed whenever he offered his assistance, but sped during every minute she spent in Stevie's clutches. The constant tug-of-war tested him in every aspect of his mental ability, and it was one challenge he intended to win.

As much as he and Ivy detested each other sometimes, he couldn't handle the thought of her slipping away.

"Look," Butch began, willing himself to calm down. "The thing I wanted to talk to you about. What if I had a way for you to get out from Stevie's hold?"

Ivy turned back to him, appearing skeptical. "But the blackmail material—"

"He won't play all his cards if he thinks he still has a shot of getting you back. It's all about leverage and control with that guy. We'll figure out a way to take all the stuff he has on you, but I thought of something that'll keep you out of his reach and give us time to come up with a plan."

He strode to the living room and picked up the jacket Wally had dropped off on the sofa chair. Ivy peered at him, glancing between him and the piece of clothing as he walked back to her.

"I had Wally commission this earlier. Everyone in the Vault might think we're a bunch of worthless assholes, but we follow a code, and we take care of our own." Butch held up the new jacket, identical to his, but smaller in size. The iconic green serpent on the back contrasted brightly against the black leather. "I'm askin' you to join the Tunnel Snakes."

Ivy's head tilted in surprise, her fingers reaching out to touch the emblem before she caught herself and drew back. "You're kidding. One, you vowed for years that I'd never be welcome in your gang. Two, how are the Tunnel Snakes supposed to keep Stevie away from me?"

Butch fought to keep his temper down. "Forget what I said back when we were kids. This is fuckin' serious. You become a Tunnel Snake, Stevie will think twice about tryin' to get past all of us to get to you. His brother's in our ranks, and you know how headstrong the Macks are with each other. What I'm sayin' is we'll protect you."

"But why do I have to join to get your support?" she asked. "Couldn't I be… I don't know, an unofficial Tunnel Snake charge or something?"

"Like I said, Stevie's all about control," Butch replied, hands constricting slightly on the jacket. "My dad was the same way. Isolate a girl, you have full power over her. If Stevie thinks you got all of us as friends, he'll have to back off and cook up a new way to get you by yourself again. But you won't be alone. Not with us."

Ivy still looked doubtful, but her expression told him she was wavering. She ran her knuckles over the embroidered green snake just as something else caught her attention. Eyes widening, her hand suddenly went to his collar, and he jerked at the contact of her nails grazing his skin. He was about to ask her what she was doing when she hooked a finger under the repaired chain around his neck and pulled out the necklace from under his jumpsuit.

The serpent pendant thumped against his chest, and her touch burned through his attire as she held it in her palm.

"This… I had wondered where it went," she breathed, lips parted in shock. "I thought you didn't want it…"

Butch cleared his throat to make sure his voice didn't crack as he muttered, "So I changed my mind. So what?"

"And I thought your Tunnel Snake design looked familiar," she went on. "You kept the pendant all these years?"

He started to sweat, from her questions or her proximity he wasn't sure. All he knew was that she was close enough for him to smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, and the reminder of that incident outside the atrium two years back had his heart beating hard against his ribcage. He tried to retreat a few steps, hoping she wouldn't feel the telltale rhythm, but she gripped the pendant and locked him in place.

Mild panic swept across his stomach. Trying to disguise his flustered state, he stammered, "So, uh, I'll say again… this is your formal invitation to join the Tunnel Snakes."

Deep within the hazel irises, a familiar brightness flared to life. She released him and seized the jacket from his hands. "Done."


	7. Chapter 7

**(January 2277)**

The flashy jukebox belted out a playlist of pre-war rock 'n' roll tunes that filled the bustling rec room and accompanied the beat of Butch's winning pool shot. Freddie groaned as he watched the last ball fall into the corner pocket along with a third of his most recent paycheck.

Butch grinned in satisfaction and twirled his pool cue with one hand. "Pay up, Freddie-boy. That fat wallet was just beggin' to be thinned out."

"Aw, man. Best two out of three?" Freddie asked, although he was already counting out the bills.

"Nope," the Tunnel Snake leader said and snatched up the money. "You know what they say. 'It ain't about winning or playing the game, but about how you handle losing.'"

"Um… I'm no brainiac or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's not how the quote goes."

Butch scratched his head as he went to replace his cue on the rack. "Yeah, probably not, but I like my version better."

He led the way to the bar next to the billiards area and ordered two sodas from Andy, hastily declining when the friendly but inept robot offered to open both bottles with its buzz saw. After sliding one to Freddie, he leaned back against the counter and twisted off the cap to take a swig of the cool beverage. This day off had been exactly what he needed. Between running the barber shop and taking care of more personal matters, Butch had almost forgotten what having fun felt like. He half-listened to Freddie's remarks about work and life in general as he stared at the activity around the room, basking in the relaxing atmosphere.

A holotape of an old film played on the large television set at the opposite wall, and several people occupied the surrounding lounge chairs, viewing and commenting on it. Closer to the entrance on the left side, an intense game of poker between some of the older men encouraged everyone else to give that particular table a wide berth. Adjacent to them sat a few desks intended for students during study hours, but Christine Kendall and several other giggling girls had claimed that section as their chat corner for the day, where they gossiped and discussed the upcoming Vault-wide spring formal.

When Susie Mack glanced up from Christine's side and noticed Butch looking her way, her eyes drifted longingly to the other young man beside him. He couldn't help his wry chuckle at his subordinate's baffling popularity with the ladies, and even more amusing was Freddie's continued obliviousness to it. Butch shook his head when Freddie paused in his monologue to ask him what was so funny, but his humor died down when the entrance door slid open.

Ivy strode in with Wally and Paul close behind, the black shine of their Tunnel Snake jackets catching the light. Hers was zipped almost all the way up, and Butch was once again of the opinion that she pulled off leather like nobody's business. His gaze traveled over the returning curves of her hips below the hem of the jacket, the way she hooked her thumbs into her pockets, and the delicate slope of her neck above the collar. He didn't plan on recruiting more girls anytime soon, but as the very first female Tunnel Snake to represent the gang, Ivy looked damn good in their colors.

She wore a messy ponytail and a troubled frown, surveying the room until her eyes locked with his. He motioned her over and waited as she and her two escorts made their way to the bar counter. Paul chattered animatedly at her ear while they walked, but the heavy scowl that weighed down Wally's mouth told Butch that his second-in-command still took issue with Ivy's membership in their circle.

_Suck it up, Mack. Your brother's the main reason we had to resort to this._

"Yo," Butch greeted out loud when Ivy sat on the bar stool next to him. "How's it hangin'?"

  
  
_(Drawing by[mythalmythos](http://darlingdelia.tumblr.com/post/121130068812/a-gift-for-orifiel-m-and-her-amazing-butch-f-lw))_  


"Fine," she replied, reaching for the drink in his hand. When he relinquished it to her, she downed half the bottle. "Just feeling a bit overheated."

"Yeah? Why's that?" he questioned and swiped the soda back.

"We're here, too, you know," Wally cut in, his voice taking on a sharp inflection.

Butch exhaled in annoyance. "Yeah, hi, Wally. What do ya want, a welcome wagon?"

Declining to dignify that with a response, Wally addressed the Mister Handy robot behind them and ordered a drink. Paul and Freddie, meanwhile, glanced between Butch and Ivy, their expressions inquisitive. The casual way in which he had shared his soda with her hadn't gone unnoticed. She seemed to realize this and quickly changed the subject, bringing up the stakes for their planned pool competition. Freddie immediately volunteered to sit on the sides, citing his tragic monetary loss during the pre-game match.

"This guy will rob you blind," he lamented. "Made me think I had a shot when we placed the bets, but he totally played me."

Butch buffed his nails on his jacket, smirking. "What can I say? When you go up against the Butch-man—"

"The 'Butch-man' should probably stop talking big until he beats _me_ in a game," Wally interrupted, bringing his glass of iced tea to his lips.

Teeth grinding together, Butch held back the snappy comeback that would likely result in a fistfight.

"How about Ivy and I play first?" Paul suggested. He smiled at her, practically wearing his heart on his sleeve. "I'm just an average player, but I can show you the ropes and get you started on the game mechanics and stuff."

Butch was about to object when she agreed with a nonchalant shrug, evidently missing Paul's clear infatuation with her. Wally snorted when Paul brightened even more and rushed toward the pool table to set it up. Between Ivy and Freddie, their trail of broken (and ignored) hearts would reach at least a mile in length.

The Tunnel Snakes began to migrate to the billiards area, but Butch caught Ivy's arm when she hopped off the bar stool.

"Hey," he whispered. "You sure you're okay?"

She still seemed anxious about something, but her gaze warmed at his concern. "Yeah. It's just…"

The door opened again at that moment, and her face grew grim as Amata appeared and took notice of her. The Overseer's daughter shot her a look of disgust before making a beeline for Christine's clique still gossiping across the room. Butch tensed when the girls all turned to stare at Ivy, and he automatically stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.

She sighed. "It's fine. I ran into Amata earlier and she's not impressed with my 'new choice of friends' now that I'm back in the public eye," she told him, fingers raised in air quotes.

"I don't get what the big deal is. Hell, Susie's related to one of us—" He cut himself short when he saw Wally and his sister flipping each other off from opposite ends of the floor. "Right. Bad example."

Ivy shook her head and patted his shoulder. "Thanks, but I just want to take my mind off everything today."

He watched her as she headed for the pool table, noting that she had at least regained more healthy weight. She also appeared more stable and no longer at high risk for self-harm. He and the other Tunnel Snakes had seen to that. Her uneven hair still bothered him, though. As a barber, he claimed no expertise on women's hairstyles, but he did intend on fixing that auburn mane in the very near future.

The game opened with Paul's excruciating, in-depth explanation of the rules, which prompted a preemptive yawn from Freddie. Butch left his empty soda bottle on the counter and turned back around to join them, but Wally broke away from the group and came up to intercept him.

"Got a second?"

Butch eyed his friend warily, but nodded. "Let's take this outside."

If anyone else noticed them stepping out, they didn't say anything. The corridor was empty and quiet, though it wouldn't remain so for long.

Wally rounded on him the instant the door closed. "So what the hell has all this been about? Making yourself scarce, bringing Ivy Ashburn into the gang, asking the rest of us to accompany her to each of her destinations… I thought you two had hated each other's guts since kinder."

"Things change. Now she's a… friend," Butch returned, having trouble working his mouth around the word. _Was_ she a friend? He hadn't really thought of labeling his relationship with her by this point.

"Where did this even come from? Is that why you've been acting weird since last July?" Wally demanded. "Paul and Freddie might be completely clueless, but I'm not. You banging her now or something?"

"Fuck off. It ain't like that," Butch denied at once. Collecting himself before the aggression took over his better judgment, he said, "Come on, you saw how skinny and sick she was a few months back. She had a bunch of health problems. Plus, Amata turned all the girls against her."

"From what Susie told me, it was Ivy who broke ties with them when we were still in school."

Butch rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I don't got time for details on girl drama. What I'm getting at is, she was alone when some shit hit the fan. I found her at her lowest point and called a truce so I could help her out."

Wally scoffed. "So you're supposed to be her knight in shining armor?"

The characteristic anger that would have flared at that comment didn't come. Instead, Butch averted his gaze and shifted from one foot to the other. "Hey, that ain't cool, man. When I saw Ivy that night, it reminded me of my mom back when my dad was still alive."

He remembered the hopeless states and vacant stares. They had been mere shells of the people they once were, the humanity beaten out of them by men without souls. Ellen's major depression had been painful enough to witness while he was growing up. And with Ivy, his instinct wasn't to _deal_ with it, but to _do something_ about it.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories," Wally muttered. "But there's something you're not telling me."

Butch swallowed. Many things had changed over the years, but others had stayed the same. He sometimes still regretted befriending the smart, headstrong Mack boy, who was too perceptive for his own good.

"Stevie's been asking about Ivy for a while now. Started around the same time she joined the Tunnel Snakes." Wally stepped closer, pinning the other man with a suspicious glare. "And I don't think it's a coincidence. What's going on with the three of you?"

Butch had been dreading this type of confrontation, especially this soon. He hadn't counted on Stevie making his interest in Ivy so blatant, and he wasn't prepared to tackle the questions fired his way. While he knew Wally wouldn't rest until he solved the mysterious connection between all of them, divulging Ivy's secret wasn't an option. So he did the only thing he could in that situation. He lied his ass off.

"Don't know what your brother's deal is 'cause I never talk to the guy," Butch stated, deadpan expression in place. "Maybe you should ask him why he's so focused on Ivy. I can tell you one thing, though; he ain't her type."

Wally, of course, didn't accept that response. "You're hiding something, and it's really starting to make me question our friendship," he rumbled. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, whether you fess up or not. And you'd better hope it doesn't end up pitting us against each other."

Butch fumed as Wally disappeared back into the rec room. _Yeah, and you'd better watch that attitude, pal. I've been itchin' for a Mack beatdown lately, and that can be arranged for more than one._

He cracked his knuckles and rotated his neck, relieving some of the tension before he walked back inside. Playing it cool, he ambled back over to the billiards, where Ivy stood triumphantly at one side of the cleared pool table. Paul babbled across from her in disbelief while Freddie laughed from his spot on the sidelines, yanking on Wally's sleeve and pointing at the table. Butch pushed his apprehension to the back of his mind as he quirked an eyebrow at each of them.

"Oh, boy… Ivy is more of a hustler than you are, Butch," Freddie remarked. "Turns out she's probably as good a billiard player as Wally."

"I was annihilated," Paul moaned, clapping a hand over his forehead. "And here I was talking about the basics…"

The traces of a smile ghosted over Ivy's lips as she set down the pool cue. "My dad used to take me here to practice. I got kind of good."

"Well, your 'kind of good' skills totally cost Paul his date to the spring formal in less than ten minutes," Freddie chortled. At Butch's questioning look, he elaborated, "Instead of money, they decided to wager their availability for the formal."

Paul let out a long-suffering sigh. "Now I have to go alone. You know, Ivy, I think I preferred your blunt rejection when I asked you to that last school dance a few years ago. At least I didn't get my hopes up too high back then."

A strange noise suddenly emitted from her throat. It took Butch a few seconds to realize it was the ringing sound of her soft laughter.

"I'm sorry. I've never been much for these social functions," Ivy explained. "Thanks for the game, though. It was fun."

As Paul attempted to talk her into another match, Butch and Wally both glanced toward the door, which had opened yet again. A surge of hostility flared up in his core when Stevie Mack sauntered in, followed by a few of his friends from work. They all still wore their security uniforms, and as soon as Stevie removed his helmet, his icy eyes zeroed in on Ivy right away.

She must have sensed his presence somehow because she rotated while Paul was still yammering and froze when she spotted him at the doorway. Butch saw the terror growing on her face, and he hurried to block her from Stevie's sight, ignoring Wally's alert stare.

"Guys, me and Ivy are gonna head out for a bit," Butch declared, thinking quickly. "I just remembered that I need to give her a new haircut in case she changes her mind about that formal or whatever coming up."

He didn't even care how ridiculous and abrupt it sounded; he needed to get her out of here. Fast.

Paul's face fell. "Can't you do it later—"

"Gotta get it done now before I forget again." Butch grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the exit. "So we'll see ya later."

Stevie and his buddies had taken up the bar, and he glowered at the two people crossing the room with urgent strides. Ivy kept her head down as Butch tugged her along, and it wasn't until they'd made it outside that she began breathing normally again. She kept her hand clamped onto his even as they turned the corner and walked side by side.

"Thanks," she whispered, the color returning to her cheeks.

"Yeah," was his only answer as he thanked the Almighty that she wasn't having another panic attack.

Butch frowned at the new host of problems that had escalated in the past half hour alone. Wally's acuity had become an issue, and if Stevie hadn't already figured out that Butch was aware of his abusive relations toward Ivy, he was likely close to coming to that conclusion. It was now essential that they finalized their plans for the collection of all the blackmail material.

They ended up in front of the barber shop, and Butch fumbled a few times with the passcode to unlock the door. Once it slid open and the lights blinked on, he pointed Ivy to one of the chairs and programmed the door to shut behind them. Unlike his apartment, the small shop was sparkling clean. He stripped off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the entrance, sweating from the pressure of the day's events. Ivy followed suit, unzipping and removing hers with trembling fingers to pass to him. He placed it on another rung and then ran his hands over the sides of his head, careful not to mess up his hair even as exhaustion set in.

Ivy appeared even more jaded, resting her temple on the headrest of the chair as she zoned out. The stillness drew on as they lost themselves in their thoughts, interrupted only by the whir of the air conditioner blowing through the vent. Butch squinted up at it, his jaw clenching. Finally, he spoke.

"I'll do it this week," he announced. "Break in and swipe Stevie's videos and pictures, I mean."

Ivy didn't move from her position. "How are you going to get inside the Macks' apartment?"

_Same way I got in last time._ "Don't worry, I got this. You said he keeps all the blackmail footage in a box in his stash drawer?"

She raised her head, features alight with a ray of hope. "Yes. It's the top drawer of the dresser across from his bed. You'll see all the Jet inhalers. He records everything using a camcorder that should be in the same location, so please check it and grab any data chips still stored inside."

Butch nodded, encouraged by the trust she placed in him. "No problem. We'll end this soon."

She took a steadying breath and relaxed a little. "Thank you. I haven't been the most receptive or grateful person, but you should know that I appreciate all your help."

"Least I can do, considering I got you in this mess in the first place," he told her, fidgeting uneasily.

They lapsed into another awkward silence, staring off in different directions as they contemplated what to do next. The plan that day had been to hang out with the gang, but they couldn't very well go back while Stevie was still in the rec room and Ivy hadn't gotten the haircut Butch had used as their excuse to leave. She at least seemed calmer now, though a bit uncomfortable in her seat.

From where he stood, Butch examined the unruly auburn hair, which had spilled halfway out of its hair tie. The luster was long gone, and there were flyaways everywhere. When his barber senses could no longer take it, he strode to the counter and seized the black cloth folded next to the styling gadgets.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Ivy inquired shrilly as he wrapped the cloth around her and secured it at the base of her neck.

"Since we're here, we might as well take care of that hairstyle," he replied, pulling up his sleeves and heading to the sink to wash his hands.

"I thought you were kidding about that."

"Nope. Been wantin' to fix that disaster of a hack job ya did on yourself since last year."

She pursed her lips unhappily, but refrained from protesting further. He freed her hair from its ponytail and ran a comb carefully through the knots and tangles. His fingers remembered the feel of the strands from when he used to yank them during their childhood, but this time his ministrations were gentle and professional. The length had grown to reach her chest, and with the number of split ends, he would have to cut it short to her chin. She jolted when he picked up the spray bottle and sprayed water on her head, and the peeved accusation in her glare was so reminiscent of the looks she always gave him when they were kids that he couldn't help the laughter that burst from his mouth.

"You did that on purpose," she complained, swiveling around.

He tried to keep a straight face as he rotated her head back to the front. "It's part of the haircut process, but that glare you just shot me was funny as hell. Reminded me of the time I ate that chocolate bar right out of your hand in Brotch's class."

She settled down and gave an uncharacteristic snicker. "I remember that. You were such a little shit before."

"Before? Still don't think I am?" Butch quipped, trimming off the first tendrils of auburn.

"You seem to have grown out of it. A little," Ivy conceded. She waited until he finished cutting her bangs before asking, "So, are you really going to make me look formal-worthy, or is this another scheme to sabotage me?"

He stiffened, hands and scissors going still. The atmosphere grew heavy as he searched for an answer, but nothing—snarky, livid, or contrite—came to mind. She glimpsed his reflection in the mirror, panicking when she saw his dour expression.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," she backpedaled hastily. "I wasn't talking about the hidden cam and shooting range footage. I meant some of the pranks we used to pull on each other—"

"Yeah, I see what you're sayin' now. Relax," Butch assured her, resuming his work.

_Take it easy,_ he told himself. _No good being all touchy over this subject._

Ivy had gone quiet, cheeks flushed as she kept her sight fixed on the floor. He distracted himself with the task at hand, paying close attention to the natural wavy texture of her hair. The only sounds in the shop for a while were the _snip, snip_ of the scissors as he progressed through the thick mane, smoothing out each section and dropping the damaged ends. As the minutes passed, he felt an admitted intimacy in the handling of her tresses. Besides his own, he'd never been inclined on touching any head of hair other than for work. And even though hers was a travesty in the process of being remedied, he found the touch of it pleasing, tangles and all.

"'Sides," Butch went on, as if there hadn't been a twenty-minute break in conversation, "weren't you the one who sabotaged me when I was tryin' to ask Susie to that one school dance?"

Ivy's gaze snapped up. "Oh. Right."

"That was really uncool, Poindexter," he chastised, the corner of his mouth lifting to show her he no longer held any hard feelings. "Snuffin' out my chances like that…"

She was peering to the side again. "I, um, wasn't expecting you to ask Susie when you walked over to us that day."

He combed out the shortened length of her hair and added the finishing touches, glancing inquiringly at her in the mirror.

"I lashed out when you went to her because I had a crush on you."

The scissors clattered to the floor, and Butch coughed out something about butterfingers as he bent to retrieve them. His stomach had taken on an odd fluttering sensation at her confession, but at the same time, his chest constricted painfully. If it was true, and the only reason she had disparaged him in front of Susie was that she'd been jealous, then his decision to sell her out to Stevie was even more contemptible than he'd imagined. Although he couldn't have known back then, he still loathed himself for it now.

"I… damn. I didn't see that comin'," Butch stammered, tossing the scissors into the sink.

Ivy allowed him to remove the black cloth from her, and she absently brushed her fingers through her new short haircut as she stated, "I know. Typical sixteen-year-old, couldn't be upfront about how I felt. Don't worry, it was a silly, passing crush. You won't have to deal with it at this point."

For some reason, hearing that displeased him.

He cleaned off the tools and returned them to their places as she watched, her gaze probing his face for something. Needing a drink, he opened the cabinet next to the counter and produced the flask of vodka hidden inside. Leave it to Ivy to drive him to liquor this early in the evening. He got as far as unscrewing the cap when she jumped up from the chair and launched herself at him, trying to grab the flask.

"What the fuck?" he yelped.

"Don't," Ivy exclaimed, alarm etched across her features.

"Okay, jeez, you can have some, too—"

"No, just don't drink. Ever." She successfully pried the flask from his hand and held it away from him.

He gaped at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You know both my parents were alcoholics, right? Not sayin' I'll turn out the same way, but alcohol is kinda in my blood."

She wore the same expression of trepidation from earlier as she gripped the flask behind her and stared at him almost desperately. Although she offered no explanation, he realized at that moment that she hadn't been worried about her quarrel with Amata or even Stevie's appearance when she'd been anxious and withdrawn in the rec room. There was something else.

"All right, spit it out. What aren't you tellin' me?" Butch demanded, advancing on her.

She stood her ground when he invaded her personal space, but she sighed while placing the vodka on the counter. "I just don't want you to end up like your dad."

"Bullshit. I know you. You don't just freak out like that over something that might or might not happen."

Ivy studied him for a minute. Then, to his surprise, she reached out to touch his cheekbone with her thumb. "Have your blue eyes always had that ring of copper on the irises?"

Butch blinked in confusion. He wasn't sure if it was possible, but her sanity and a few brain cells might have been lost with her haircut. "Uh, I dunno?"

She looked torn, but eventually lowered her arm and nudged the flask back toward him. "Just… take it easy on the liquor, okay?"

He gazed down at her, wondering if he'd ever figure out the enigma that was Ivy Ashburn. During her recovery process, she had become unpredictable. He was uncertain whether it was better to try to understand her or to simply accept her as she was. A lot had happened on this eventful day off, and he was still taking all of it in. But as he observed her desolate, thousand-yard stare, he decided he wanted the afternoon to end on a good note. Stevie, Amata, the Tunnel Snakes, and every other problem could go fuck off for now.

"Say, about that time you ruined my chances with Susie," Butch began, stifling a chuckle when Ivy's shoulders went rigid.

"Yeah, sorry…" she mumbled, but trailed off when he raised his hand to stop her.

"You still haven't made it up to me, you know." He leaned on his elbow against the counter, shooting her a cocky grin that he hoped would lighten the mood. "So, how 'bout you be my date to this spring formal and we'll call it even?"


	8. Chapter 8

**(May 2277)**

**_Part 1_ **

"How the hell did this go again? Over, around, under… no. Around, over, under—argh, fuck it," Butch growled, yanking the satin tie from around his neck and chucking it behind him. "Ain't my style, anyway."

He undid the top buttons of his white dress shirt and pulled it apart, smoothing down the open collar as the silver chain of the serpent necklace came into view and glimmered in the fluorescent light of his room. The black slacks were snug around his quads since his leg muscles were bigger than his father's had been, but the waistband fit fine enough for him to wear a silver belt comfortably. His attire wouldn't match this year's motif for the spring formal, but he hadn't been impressed with the theme, anyway.

_Hail the Reserves._

In reference to military history from before the Great War, there had been supposed units of reservists in the armed forces. Some families in the Vault who claimed to be descended from those military members spent weeks pitching the idea to create and wear apparel in the likeness of the original uniforms. With the Overseer's approval, the theme had been accepted.

Butch, unable to fathom this aspiration, opted out of the archaic-dress bandwagon. He stood in front of the mirror and checked himself out at all angles until satisfied with his appearance. Then, giving his own reflection a self-assured smirk, he stepped into the black oxfords he'd spent the previous night spit-shining.

A sudden spell of dizziness overtook him, and he braced himself on his dresser, waiting for it to abate. His occasional lethargy and lack of coordination had increased in frequency in the past month, but he chalked it up to recurring stress and not enough sleep. Working, running the gang, and looking after Ivy were all taking their toll, and he hoped tonight would help him unwind enough to avoid a visit to the clinic. Once the vertigo passed, he released the edge of the dresser and resumed getting ready.

"Oh my God," Ellen piped up from his doorway, more sober than he'd seen her in days. "You're the spitting image of your father, Butchie. Especially with your hair parted to the side like that."

"For real?" he asked in dismay. This variation to his regular hairstyle lent him a neater and more refined look, but he immediately grabbed his comb and returned to the mirror, poised to change it.

"No, leave it like that. I meant that it makes you look very handsome," his mother said, giving him a sad smile as she crossed her arms and leaned on his doorframe. "You'd never have guessed it, but your father was a charmer back in his prime."

"Yeah, well he was still a worthless piece of shit by the time of his death," Butch grumbled as he set the comb down after some deliberation. He could deal with being a Hank clone for one night if it meant he'd appear classier. Ironically enough. "And anyway, I thought you hated that I take after him more and more every day, Mom."

Ellen waved that off. "It's the alcohol talking when I go on those tirades. Hank gave me one good thing during our years together, and that was you, honey."

Butch wrinkled his nose at her while picking up his black suit jacket from the bed and brushing off the lint. "Okay, you're not drunk, so are you high on somethin'? This mushy crap is grossin' me out."

"Hey, I can be in a mushy mood once in a while. Especially when my only child is going to his first formal event."

"For Christ's sake, Mom, I'm turnin' twenty this year," he said in exasperation, hanging the jacket over his desk chair. "At least reign in the weepy-proud-mother act in front of my date, huh?"

He realized his mistake in revealing that bit of information when Ellen perked up.

"What? I didn't know you were going with a date! Who is it?" she demanded as a mischievous smile—which he himself had inherited—spread over her face.

A knock at the front door interrupted them. Butch's gaze clashed with his mother's for a brief moment before they both dashed to answer it. For a slender woman with no physical fitness to speak of, Ellen managed to bump her son hard enough with her hip so that he crashed sideways into the console table in the cluttered living room. He swore profusely and lagged behind while she opened the door, preparing to embarrass him in front of the lucky girl he'd managed to lasso as his date.

However, she was greeted not by a girl in formalwear, but by two security officers in full uniform.

One of whom was Stevie Mack.

Butch tensed as Stevie lifted the visor of his helmet, the older man's impassive expression belying the sinister glint in his eye. A sinking feeling settled in Butch's gut when a slip of white paper appeared in one gloved hand. His mind went to the box of blackmail material he had successfully stolen from Stevie's room three months ago, which he'd thrown into the Vault incinerator at the first opportunity. Both officers stepped inside the apartment without invitation, and he rushed forward to confront them.

Ellen glanced sharply at her son. "Butchie. Two men? You couldn't get a girl to be your date?" she whined, sounding disappointed and betrayed.

"Mom, not now," he warned and placed himself in front of her. Glaring at Stevie, he spat, "Whaddya want, Mack?"

"Watch that temper, 'Butchie,' and get out of the way. The adults are speaking," Stevie replied, walking around him to address Ellen. "Mrs. DeLoria, we have a warrant from the Overseer to search this apartment for some electronic equipment that was reported stolen."

Ellen's eyebrows drew together in perplexity as she took the paper he handed to her and read through it. "I don't understand… you're saying we're suspects in a robbery?"

Butch snatched the warrant and ripped it to shreds. "With all due respect, officers, you and your shit-for-brains superiors have got the wrong people, so get the fuck out."

Stevie stepped up to him, getting in his face. "You will cooperate, or we will arrest you. Simple as that," he hissed in a low, dangerous voice. Without waiting for Butch to answer, he turned to his partner and ordered, "Check the living room and kitchen. I'll take the bedrooms."

Ellen threw her hands up as she trailed after the second officer, wailing, "Watch what you touch! There's a specific structure and order to this mess, you know…"

Stevie wasted no time heading for the first bedroom, which happened to be Butch's. The Tunnel Snake leader almost wished he was wearing his jumpsuit and trademark jacket so the bloodstains wouldn't ruin his nice dress clothes while he laid into Stevie with his fists, but at this point, he wasn't picky. He sprinted after him, ready to deliver the pounding he'd been wanting to do, but Stevie whirled around and caught him by the neck once they crossed into the room. Butch threw a punch that the other man blocked with ease, and he choked for breath as Stevie squeezed his windpipe before shoving him to the floor.

Butch landed on his back, coughing and sputtering as Stevie hit the button to close the door. His hand went to the baton at his belt, and he gripped the handle as he came over and pressed the sole of his boot onto Butch's chest. The serpent pendant dug into the latter's sternum, bruising the skin.

"I'll make this easy so even a moron like you can understand," Stevie declared, grinding his foot hard enough so that the spines of the pendant drew blood. "You have one chance to hand over everything you took from me. That includes the videos, pictures, data chips… and Ivy."

_Damn it. Of course he knows it was me._

"Fuck you," Butch rasped as he brought up his hands to try and push Stevie's boot off. "Ivy ain't an object to just pass around, and you're a goddamn rapist and chem junkie playin' dress-up in a security uniform."

The weight did leave his chest in that instant, but the motion was followed by a swift kick to his ribs. Pain erupted over his torso as he snarled incoherently through bared teeth and clutched the area of impact. Stevie smirked and proceeded to tear his room apart, pulling all the dresser drawers open and dumping out their contents in his search for the material.

"That's fucking hilarious, DeLoria," Stevie jeered as he left the dresser and yanked the mattress from the bed, heaving it against the wall. "Acting like you're some kind of hero, when you were the one who said, and I quote, 'As long as the bitch pays.' Ring a bell?"

Butch's vision had blurred, but he glowered in the security officer's general direction as he struggled to sit up. "I know what I said, and I've been makin' up for it since I had no clue what a total _psycho_ you were. Question is, do _you_ know what you've _done_?"

The baton went flying at his head, striking him squarely in the nose and mouth. He grunted and clamped his palms over his nostrils when the first drops of blood poured out.

"I've got almost a decade on you, kid, so don't even try talking down to me," Stevie barked, throwing open the closet door and rummaging through the interior. "So you think you know the whole story? Like you got my relationship with Ivy all figured out?"

Butch glared up at him from his hunched position on the floor, red leaking through his fingers. _It's not a fuckin' relationship when you're manipulating someone into being with you._

"Did she tell you that I was the one she always ran to whenever you harassed her while you guys were growing up? That it was my shoulder she cried on?" Stevie paused in his rifling to sneer at the other man. "That we dated on and off for years?"

The news struck Butch like a sledgehammer to the abdomen. _No way…_

"Then one day she just broke it off for good. Said something about starting to like the dickhead who used to bully her," Stevie continued, tossing articles of clothing behind him. "I was supposed to just lose her to the likes of you? When early on, she'd been _begging_ me for sex."

Butch gawked at him, adding it all up in his head. "You fuckin' sicko, she was a kid, you were a grownup!"

"Lapse in judgment on my part when a cute teenage girl was all over my dick, but I don't regret a thing," Stevie responded simply, much to Butch's disgust. "And after she'd decided it was over, her crush showed up and gave me that footage of her illegal target shooting. Irony, man. You know the rest."

He did know the rest, but his mind was reeling from the overload of new information. Ivy had been involved _consensually_ with Stevie in the past? How old was she at the time? Fourteen? Fifteen? The thought sickened him, made him ill. Although that detail might have been irrelevant in light of Stevie's recent transgressions toward her, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been deceived.

"And now you've changed your tune, roping her into your band of delinquents and using the excuse that you can protect her just to glue her to your side. Am I right?" Stevie taunted as he slammed the closet door shut.

Butch narrowed his eyes at him. That last part wasn't true, but it was close enough. Recruiting Ivy into the Tunnel Snakes had been the only solution he could think of to separate her from Stevie since she'd had nowhere else to turn, and it had the convenient side effect of keeping her around. However, monopolizing her wasn't what he'd been after, even if he did admit to a developing attachment to her presence.

Stevie surveyed the ransacked room before marching over to pick up the baton. "I'm not the only bad guy here, DeLoria. You're no better than I am."

"Go fuck yourself," Butch managed to growl from behind his hands before another torrent of blood gushed forth from his nose. _Don't even put me on your level, ya son of a bitch._

The front of his dress shirt was stained with crimson, and he resorted to using his sleeve as a tissue to stave off the bleeding. Stevie nudged him in the forehead with the end of the baton, features twisted with malevolence.

"Last time I'm making myself clear. Give it all up, _now_ , and I'll let you walk away from this scot-free. If you don't, you're going to be sorry you ever interfered. That's a fucking promise."

If he wasn't seeing double at the moment, Butch would have jumped him and returned the favor of a busted face. "You know what, Mack? Kiss my ass."

Stevie actually laughed at that and swung the baton to give him a final whack across the temple. "Your funeral, DeLoria. Have fun tonight all bashed up like that. _Hail the Reserves_ ," he mocked, reciting the theme of the spring formal.

The door slid open a second later, revealing the other security officer and a very cross Ellen, whose expression melted to one of shock when she saw the devastation in the room and Butch injured on the carpet.

"What the hell! What happened here?" she demanded, scowling at Stevie.

"Just teaching your son a lesson for the obstruction of justice, ma'am," he answered coolly. To his partner, he asked, "Anything?"

"Nope. Searched the living room, kitchen, and the other bedroom for you. No sign of the stolen items," the second officer told him.

Stevie frowned and snapped his visor back into place, nodding. "All right. Let's go file our reports. Mrs. DeLoria, you have a good day. As for you…" he said, shooting Butch a parting glare. "Better watch yourself."

The two officers left the apartment without another word. Ellen rushed to her son's side as he groaned and batted away her attempts to help him up. A million drifting thoughts swam through his brain amidst the mounting headache, leaving him disoriented and a little queasy. As he tuned out his mother's angry comments on her intention to file a complaint about what had happened, he touched his temple gingerly with the pads of his fingers and felt a bump. Fantastic. In this state, he wasn't sure if he was in any condition to attend the formal after all.

Ellen continued to fuss over him without actually helping, and he had just finished barking at her to grab an ice pack for him when another knock sounded at the door. She leapt up to answer it, snarling something about giving Officer Mack a piece of her mind. Butch stayed where he was, too consumed by fury and physical pain to join her. He took his sleeve from his nose just as he heard a verbal exchange that made him freeze with consternation.

"Ivy?" His mother's voice echoed with clear surprise.

"Hi, Mrs. DeLoria," came Ivy's response. "Um… is Butch ready?"

"You're… oh! I see," Ellen exclaimed, her tone turning gleeful. "We had a bit of a hold up, but he's in his room. Past the kitchen, first door on the right."

 _Mom, you are such a bitch sometimes,_ he seethed, hurrying to rise to his feet.

The momentum coupled with the returning dizziness resulted in him toppling over himself and crumpling back to the floor. He muttered an oath as Ivy's footsteps came closer, and in his sour mood he prepared to call off their attendance to the formal. Snapping his gaze to the doorway, he opened his mouth… only for the words to die in his throat when she appeared.

A very different version of Ivy stood there, one clad in a light blue sleeveless dress and white heels. Her hair had been swept to the side and secured with a rhinestone barrette, a few auburn tendrils falling over her left eye. She still wore no makeup, but the longer he stared at her with his mouth hanging open, the more he grew blind to her physical imperfections. The full effect of her beauty struck him when the burning intensity of her eyes flared as they settled on his battered state.

"Oh God, what happened?"

He forced himself to stop gaping and sat on his hindquarters, turning his head to the side. "Stevie happened. With a search warrant. He was lookin' for the stuff I took. Good thing we got rid of it, right?"

Ivy came forward, gait slightly wobbly in her heels, and knelt down beside him. The scent of vanilla wafted toward him as she reached out and took his jaw in her hands, brow furrowed with worry as she inspected his injuries. "He did this to you?"

Butch jerked away, shame bringing a flush to his cheeks. "Only reason the fucker handed me my ass was 'cause I haven't been at a hundred percent health. Been kinda under the weather and all."

"Do you still want to go to the formal?"

He glanced at her, taking in her appearance and imagining the effort she'd gone through for it. Thrusting his reservations aside, he exhaled and nodded. "Yeah. Wouldn't want you to have gotten dressed up for nothin'. That's a good look for ya, by the way, Poindexter."

"You think so? I didn't have any clothes for this type of occasion, so Jonas pointed me to his mom to borrow these."

Butch tried not to leer at the way the fabric clung to her curves. "Definitely a good call. Me, I need to get another shirt, but we can still make it."

She brushed a gentle thumb over the bump on his temple, looking stricken. "Okay. Here, I can help."

He smiled wryly at her concern. "You gonna help me get dressed, girl?"

Ivy's gaze softened as she wiped the blood from his face with her fingers. "Dress your wounds, more like. You're looking worse for wear," she said, her lips tilting upward, "nosebleed."

Nearly an hour later, they entered the darkened atrium and were greeted by the pounding beat of ambient lounge music reverberating off the walls. Colored floor lights set up along the perimeter and center provided the main luminescence, lending the room an unrecognizable, trendy atmosphere. A giant projector screen hung at the far end, displaying old images of the pre-war world and several known reservists from the time. Near the left wall sat a table of refreshments and hors d'oeuvres prepared from the standard food rations. Over half the Vault citizens were packed inside, most of whom wore their uniform replicas and mingled around the floor.

Butch unconsciously wrapped an arm around Ivy's waist as they navigated through the crowded premises. She allowed the contact and even leaned into him when several stares gravitated her way. In an obvious attempt to ignore them, she shifted her attention to the right side of the room, where a familiar face worked the twin turntables that provided the booming music.

"Hey, guys!" Freddie called when he spotted them, waving with one hand as the other scratched a vinyl record back and forth on one turntable. "Check it out, they let me be the disc jockey tonight!"

Butch snorted and grinned as Ivy waved back. At least Freddie seemed to be having a lot of fun. The place was alive with chatter and dancing, promising an evening less tedious than Butch had originally thought. He led his date past several of their peers, who did double-takes at the sight of them both. While Ivy was an unexpected gem all dolled up, he sensed people gawking at him even harder. He had cleaned up, donned a new dress shirt, and completed the outfit with his sharp suit jacket. Even Edwin Brotch, who had been their teacher during their teen years, had to squint as they walked by.

Wally and Paul were loitering off to the side near the tables, wearing standard formal attire. Paul's eyes bugged out when he saw his romantic interest on Butch's arm, and Wally cast a sharp look in their direction before turning away. Butch frowned but kept moving, resolving to seek him out for a chat later. Ivy clasped her hands in front of her, seemingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny as she continued to turn people's heads. Suddenly, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a side room used for storage.

"Hey, where're we—" Butch started, but cut himself off when he saw how ashen her face had gotten. _Oh, shit. A panic attack._

He followed her inside, the door shutting behind them and sealing them in darkness. Activating the light on his Pip-Boy, he shined it toward her as she struggled to take deep breaths. His palms went to her trembling shoulders, feeling the drop in her temperature.

"You're okay. You'll get through it," he reassured her, running his hands over her arms in an attempt to warm her up. "Not big on crowds, huh?"

She didn't answer, still focused on her breathing. Small, shaking fingers clutched at his suit jacket, locking him in place.

"Don't sweat it. I ain't goin' anywhere," Butch declared. "But you got this; you're a tough girl. Patched me up earlier without battin' an eyelash, remember?"

Ivy closed her eyes as she nodded, working through the attack.

"For what it's worth, thanks for comin' with me to this formal thing. Didn't know it would trigger this reaction, though. Next time I ask you to be my date, we'll make it a one-on-one deal."

She managed a short, breathless laugh as she began to calm down. For several minutes, the only sounds in the small space were her intakes of air and the muffled rhythm of the music outside. His hands had settled on the junction of her shoulders and neck, and he remained silent as he studied her. Stevie's words about their past relationship still bothered him, but he shoved it down, buried it in the recesses of his mind to prevent it from ruining their night.

Ivy had lowered her head, and in the dimness he saw a tear trickle down from beneath her lashes. Butch could only imagine the burden and ache she carried with her, trapped in her own nightmares whether she was awake or asleep. Robbed of normalcy and peace, she had trouble lowering her guard and letting others in. The fact that he, her former bully and adversary, had become the person closest to her was the work of irony coming full circle. The bond had always been there, perpetually adjusting itself, linking them in whatever relationship they had, antagonistic or otherwise.

But as he brushed the dampness from her cheek, he decided he was no longer satisfied with merely being her rival, companion, or even her friend.

Her eyes opened when he lifted her chin, and he saw his own desire reflected in the glistening pools of hazel as he slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

She hesitated at first, uncertain and shy, as he held her face in his hands to pull her closer. Then, when she relaxed and tentatively reciprocated, he lost himself at once in her sweetness. She was soft against him, her lips softer still, and even as he deepened the kiss he wanted to feel more of her. One arm snaked around her waist as he backed her into the wall, never breaking their contact. His other hand moved to cradle the back of her head, holding her as his tongue darted out, probed and teased until she granted him access. He lapped at her mouth, memorizing the taste of her, groaning as her tongue ran against his.

Mind in turmoil, he tried to reign himself in as he thought of what he'd been missing all these years. He never would have guessed, never would have known, what it'd be like to touch her. She fit perfectly in his arms, spurring in him urges of this magnitude he hadn't known existed. And now that he was here with her, he was quickly losing control.

She broke the kiss to gasp for air, and he took the opportunity to trail his mouth over the hot skin of her neck. Heat collected in his groin when she moaned softly, and his fingers fisted in her hair to tug her head back, exposing more of her to him. He kissed along her jaw, her throat, pushed the straps of her dress down over her shoulders as he made his way south. She whimpered his name as her hands curled into his collar to hold him against her, an action that told him she was willing.

He didn't feel his injuries or headache anymore, only the sensation of her quivering form as he licked her collarbone, nipping gently as he released her waist to cup one breast through the material of her dress. Her breathing had gone ragged, and he straightened as he kneaded her flesh, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Ivy…" he murmured, the single word requesting permission. He ground himself against her so she could feel his hardening need.

She paused, only for a moment, and then her fingers were on his belt buckle so quickly that he faltered in mild surprise. He watched her, noting her flushed and eager expression, the quiet trust in her eyes. His pulse picked up speed, and he reached for her, concluding that she needed this as much as he did.

The door flew open in that instant, pouring thrumming music and light into the room. Butch and Ivy jolted, and he jumped at least three feet from her, hastily refastening his pants. She fixed the straps of her dress as he glowered at the intruder, pure wrath and frustration aflame in his veins.

Freddie looked just as embarrassed as they felt. "Oh… I thought I saw you two come in here. Didn't know you were, uh, getting busy, though."

"What the fuck do you want, you bastard?" Butch fairly roared, adjusting his clothing to better conceal the softening bulge in his pants.

"I'm just letting you know that we're about to start some kind of special presentation," Freddie replied, his enthusiasm returning even though his gang leader was pinning him with a murderous glare. "I'm handling the projector along with the music, so I was given this thing to show on the screen." He held up a small data chip.

"You barged in here to tell us _that_?" Butch demanded in outrage.

"Oh, and also to pass along a message," Freddie said. "For some reason, Stevie Mack told me to tell you, _'Hail the Reserves.'_ Like you didn't already know the slogan of the formal. I don't get it." He shrugged. "Well, we're starting in a minute as soon as I load it up, so… uh, if you're gonna have a quickie—"

"Freddie. Go. Just go," Butch ordered, voice shaking with animosity.

Freddie did so, chuckling as he disappeared. Butch sighed, exasperated, and turned to Ivy, who had gone beet red. She was glancing at everything but him until he strode back to her and straightened her hair barrette, which had been knocked askew.

"Sorry," he muttered, flushing a bit himself.

She smiled weakly. "It's okay."

"So… about your 'passing crush' on me…"

Her cheeks glowed an even deeper shade of scarlet as she gave his chest a light shove. "Shut up."

He was about to crack another joke when the full impact of Freddie's words hit him. Stevie was here? And that data chip…

The blood promptly drained from Butch's face. It couldn't be. Ivy had been so thorough; he had been so careful. Stevie's room had been cleaned of all the media she had described. They couldn't have missed anything. Unless there was more material they hadn't known about.

_Hail the Reserves._

Reserve copies.

From inside the storage room, Butch saw the projector screen go blank as Freddie loaded the data chip. Without taking the time to give Ivy an explanation, he bolted out through the door.

"Freddie, no!"


	9. Chapter 9

**(May 2277)**

**_Part 2_ **

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, we've got a special segment for you this evening," Freddie's amplified voice announced over the speakers. "If you'd turn your attention to the projector screen…"

Butch skidded to a halt once he raced through the door of the storage room, cursing the number of people idly blocking his path to the disc jockey booth. His shouts to Freddie went unheard as the music continued to drown him out, and from where he stood, he saw the chip go into the projector drive. Fueled by desperation, he resorted to elbowing his way through the dense crowd, _needing_ to reach Freddie and stop the upload. Unfortunately, he made it three meters in before the tide of bodies gathering in front of the screen ended up pushing him back to where he started.

 _Goddammit,_ he fumed, pulse roaring in his ears.

The seconds ticked away as his gaze roved over the dark atrium, searching for a different route. Short of leaping up and running across the tabletops, there was no way out of his corner. He glanced once more at the masses and hesitated. Out of time and out of options, his body made the decision for him. He hopped up onto the first table, sending silverware and plates crashing to the floor as he steadied himself and prepared to charge over and tackle Freddie. As soon as he made to jump to the next table, however, rolling murmurs suddenly swept across the room. Muscles tensing, he turned and blanched at the flickering projection.

Too late.

The words _Brought to you by the Tunnel Snakes_ had appeared on the screen, confusing him for a brief moment. But when the sequence changed, the sight knocked the breath from his lungs. The slideshow that followed brought on collective gasps and jeers from the audience, and his blood ran cold at its progression. Knowing what had been coming did nothing to lessen the impact.

Everything he'd done, everything he and Ivy had worked so hard for, had been in vain. In the worst manner possible, her fears had become reality.

Pictures of Ivy, dozens upon dozens, flashed across the screen in quick succession. Ranging from provocative to vulgar in nature, they featured her in various suggestive poses by herself, clothed and unclothed. Some depicted shots of her taking and injecting herself with various chems, from Jet, to Med-X, to Buffout, and even Psycho. The images themselves were appalling enough to behold, but a terrible sensation crawled under his skin at the evidence of her transformation to the frail husk he'd encountered the night she had intended to overdose.

Butch tore his eyes away after a while, unable to watch her bleak and tortured countenance in the pictures. The stabbing in his chest stemmed not only from his utter hatred toward Stevie, but also from the knowledge that he himself was partially responsible for what had led to this. The music abruptly cut off, leaving the space buzzing with the audience's uproar. Still standing on the table, he rotated toward the direction he had come from and felt his insides wrench further at the look on Ivy's face as she trembled in the doorway of the storage room.

Features frozen in horror and anguish, she gripped the doorframe for support. Sheer mortification emanated from her posture, and even in the distance, in the dimness, he saw something break down within her. Nails digging into his palms, he whirled around to glare furiously at Freddie.

 _"Turn the fucking projector off!"_ he screamed, enraged beyond civility.

"I'm trying!" Freddie yelled back in a high pitch. "It won't stop! Like it's been messed with or something!"

A sudden, shrill blaring pierced the air, eliciting alarmed cries as people clapped their hands over their ears. It ceased when the ceiling lights promptly came on, almost blinding everyone in the unexpected brightness. Butch staggered off the table and squinted as he made his way toward Ivy, who was still paralyzed and hyperventilating at the doorway. He wrapped a protective arm around her, blinking away the last of the spots in his vision as he attempted to locate an alternate exit he could sneak her through.

"What is the meaning of this?" came the Overseer's outraged voice through the speakers, the sound echoing around the atrium. He had elevated himself to a stage opposite from the disc jockey booth, clad in his finest attire and his harshest expression. Bringing the microphone to his mouth again, he shouted, "I demand an explanation at once! Mr. Gomez!"

As a bewildered Freddie stuttered out an answer claiming no knowledge of the situation, Butch pulled Ivy back into the storage room, where she clutched at his suit jacket and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. He held her close and grimaced as the crowd erupted into riotous chatter, a reaction that promised merciless backlash. Ivy would likely need serious psychological counseling after this, and if Dr. Ashburn wasn't already out there witnessing the degradation of his daughter, word would reach him very soon.

It took Butch a few seconds to notice Ivy murmuring something between her weeping hiccups. Peering down at her, he asked, "Wait, what're you sayin'?"

"…Wrong angles," she whispered. "Those pictures were all the wrong angles."

He regarded her in puzzlement as the volume rose outside, and only when he dared to glimpse the projector screen again did he realize what she meant. It was true; the angles of the pictures were off, as if the device taking them had been set too high or too low to the side. Furthermore, her focus was clearly aimed at something else in each shot, something off-camera. They had succeeded in acquiring all the blackmail footage she had kept track of, but after seeing this, Butch could only conclude one thing.

There had been a second camera she hadn't known about.

"Sir, if I may say something," another individual spoke up. "I have some information that could shed some light on this fiasco."

Butch clenched his teeth as a new wave of animosity washed over him. _You fucker. You are dead. You are_ so _dead._

"Out with it, Officer Mack," the Overseer barked.

"It seems the Tunnel Snakes have managed to pull off their vilest prank yet," Stevie proclaimed, his words broadcasted through another microphone. "As seen by the opening slide of this… inappropriate spotlight on their newest member."

Ivy stiffened as Butch's jaw dropped in disbelief.

_No fuckin' way… he's even framin' us for it?!_

"What the hell!" Freddie shouted, voicing Butch's thoughts. "The Tunnel Snakes had nothing to do with this! You're the one who gave me that data chip and told me to load it into the projector!"

Stevie scoffed. "Mr. Gomez, I believe you've caused enough of a stir tonight without throwing around accusations."

"Now, wait just a minute," someone else, a man, retorted. "My son wouldn't be involved in something like this. Back off, Mack."

"Officer Gomez, I understand your instinct to defend your son, but the facts and evidence I have are plain as day," Stevie returned. "And I'm sure if Chief Hannon were here, he would also have a few words to say about his son's association with this gang."

"I imagine you will be elaborating on this evidence, Officer Mack," the Overseer remarked sharply over Herman Gomez's further protests. "And someone hurry up and resolve these technical difficulties! I believe nothing has been left to the imagination regarding Ms. Ashburn."

Ivy fairly wilted in Butch's arms.

"Truly a shameful sight," Stevie added. "The Tunnel Snakes certainly have a lot to answer for."

Butch's temper ignited. _That's it._

Gently prying Ivy away and moving her aside, he stomped toward the exit and emerged back onto the main floor as the crowd muttered amongst themselves. Immediately, he sought out and zoomed in on Stevie, who had taken over Freddie's station at the booth.

 _"You fucking liar!"_ Butch bellowed, effectively drawing all attention to himself. "Trying to pin these pictures on us when _you_ were the one who took all of them to blackmail Ivy for _years_!"

A dam of emotion shattered, and everything came bursting forth; the anger, the resentment, and the burning need for the Vault citizens to know the truth. He squared himself in his position and jabbed a reproving finger in his nemesis's direction.

"Beating her, making her do chems, forcing her to sleep with you… and when she was underage, too!" Butch seethed, caught up in a full-blown tirade. "Then there's the little detail that you knocked her up and then pushed her down a flight of stairs after she lost the kid. You're a goddamn crazy scumbag who just outed himself to the Vault, and no way in _hell_ are me and my gang gonna take the fall for your psycho ass!"

Stevie's black eyes narrowed amidst the spectator racket, and for a fleeting second, he appeared reminiscent of the devil himself. "I see the Tunnel Snake leader here is the loudest of all with the accusations. So I'm the one responsible for this exploitation of Ivy Ashburn?" A detestable sneer spread across his face. "Where's your proof, DeLoria?"

Butch's diatribe faltered and his mouth fell into a grim line at the unspoken challenge. He momentarily considered the possibility that his only shot at implicating Stevie may have gone up in flames along with the material he'd destroyed.

_Jesus, why can't anything go right for once?_

"Got nothing, huh?" inquired the security officer. "Well, why don't we ask the lady in question? Ms. Ashburn," he called, "I know you're hiding in that room back there. Could you come out, please?"

Nearly half a minute passed before a small figure leaned out of the storage room. Ivy gazed at the onlookers and flushed, looking terrified.

"If I'm guilty of these despicable actions as the Tunnel Snakes say, then why didn't you ever report me?" Stevie demanded, his intense stare penetrating her.

It was a trick question, and all three of them knew it. Ivy couldn't very well reveal that he had been holding the footage of the shooting range over her. She grew paler as Butch wracked his brain for a way out of this manipulative web Stevie had ensnared them in. The scheme was almost impressive in its intricacy, an agenda built on cruel intent and spite.

"No answer? Then let me reiterate," Stevie said, addressing everyone in the atrium. "This time, in their endless bids for attention, the Tunnel Snakes have gone too far."

"No," she piped up hoarsely. "The Tunnel Snakes aren't guilty."

"Damn right, we're not," Butch rumbled. "You're on borrowed time now, Mack."

"Hold on," a new voice chimed in.

Amata hiked up the skirt of her pink evening gown with one hand and joined her father on the stage. A frown marred her features as she grabbed the microphone from him and ignored his indignant command to return it.

"No one else is defending Ivy?" she snapped, glowering at the crowd. "We may not be on the best terms, but I know for a fact that she would never have consented to this demeaning photo shoot. All of you judging her right now need to look again. Do you _see_ her face in the pictures? She obviously wasn't doing them of her own free will."

Butch blinked at Amata in surprise as she sent Ivy a gaze full of regret, apology, and support.

_Well shit, didn't think Princess 101 would be the one to come to our defense…_

Stevie flashed his eyes at her. "So you're saying the Tunnel Snakes are innocent in this matter?"

"No, I'm saying those boys are probably the ones who intimidated her into doing them," Amata responded.

_…Never mind, she's still a bitch._

Stevie nodded slowly. "Yes… yes, that makes sense and lines up with the evidence I've collected. Why else would an intelligent medical intern like Ivy Ashburn join that gang of delinquents?"

The situation was horrible. Dismal. Everything was getting twisted to paint the Tunnel Snakes in an incriminating light. Stevie may have been a deranged lunatic, but he was a force to be reckoned with in his cunning and calculating aptitude. Butch wished he had known this before now, when Stevie was tearing him and his friends apart in front of the public.

Butch went to Ivy's side, glowering at Stevie across the way. "You wanna keep goin' with your bullshit, then let's take this somewhere else," he snarled. "Ivy's already fucking humiliated. She doesn't deserve to go through this in front of half the goddamn Vault."

"Actually," the Overseer cut in, snatching the microphone back from his daughter, "I am interested in hearing what Officer Mack has to say about your posse of troublemakers, Mr. DeLoria."

Butch nearly blew a gasket. Even the Overseer had taken Stevie's side. The injustice kindled his urge for violence, and he had to physically restrain himself from flying at one or the other of the two assholes in the vicinity. The spectators had gone silent as the slideshow continued on a loop in the background, though most attention was now directed at the man smirking next to the turntables.

"I've been working a case on suspicious Tunnel Snake activity for the past four months," Stevie explained, "along with an anonymous report of a missing camera."

_The past four months… is that why he hasn't made a move about the blackmail material goin' missing until now?_

The security officer dug into one pocket of his uniform trousers and produced a familiar device that had Butch's heart leaping in his throat.

"I recovered this today during several authorized searches of suspects' apartments. And as it so happens," Stevie went on, pointing at the projector screen, "every single one of those images has a time and make stamp on the bottom corner. If you look closely, they can be traced back to this camera model here."

Butch swore softly. It was the hidden camera he had installed in the generator room to capture all the footage of the shooting range. The one he had handed over to Stevie. And the one that had taken all those duplicate photos of Ivy.

By making the decision to give that camera to Stevie years ago, Butch had signed not only Ivy's social death warrant, but his own as well.

Karma sure was a vindictive bitch.

"And how's that thing supposed to relate to the Tunnel Snakes?" Freddie demanded from his demoted spot off the booth platform.

"You don't recognize it?" Stevie held up the camera and gestured to the opposite end of the room. "This belongs to one of your members. Paul Hannon, Jr."

 _Shit,_ Butch's mind yelped. _Now even Paul's getting dragged into this._

Paul gaped at Stevie in confusion. "But… I never reported that camera missing."

"Well, it's awfully convenient that the report was anonymous. My investigation revealed intra-gang conflict among some of your members," Stevie replied. "In fact, my brother was the one who came forward to cite his misgivings about Tunnel Snake actions. He has also signed a written testimony verifying that this camera belongs to you."

A severe feeling of betrayal welled up inside Butch, and he snapped his head to Wally, who stood with the stubborn set of his jaw next to Paul.

_You two-timing motherfucker…_

"I said that I did recognize that camera as Paul's, but I didn't know anything about these pictures," Wally declared heatedly. "And I only talked because our leader has been acting strange for a long time now."

Butch shifted, poised to mow a path to his former friend and throttle him. Only Ivy's light touch on his arm stopped the rampage, but he practically foamed at the mouth as Wally spotted him and pinned him with a stern glare. In that instant, over a decade of friendship disintegrated before his eyes.

Blood was thicker than water. The Macks were sticking together.

"Speaking of the Tunnel Snake leader," Stevie started, walking over to the projector once a pair of technicians managed to stop the slideshow, "it turns out that this camera had been in his possession. I returned with a new warrant to his home after the initial search earlier today and found it in his quarters. So, one possible conclusion is that Mr. DeLoria may have stolen Mr. Hannon's camera and acted alone in creating these photos of Ms. Ashburn."

Butch's pulse raced as his temper skyrocketed. "That's another damn lie! You didn't find shit in my room because _you're_ the one who's been holding onto that thing for two years!"

"Really? And how, pray tell, would I have come across this camera two years ago?" Stevie countered. "A camera that has been identified as a Tunnel Snake member's?"

Butch curled his hands into fists when he realized he had been backed into another corner. The camera had come into Stevie's possession because of Butch's shortsighted desire for revenge against Ivy. As bad as all Stevie's lies made him look, the truth would make him appear outright reprehensible.

"Fuck you," was all Butch could growl out through gritted teeth.

Stevie's grin radiated absolute smugness. "That's what I thought."

"Officer Mack," the Overseer interjected. "While you are presenting your case adequately, placing the blame solely on one individual will require more than clues and speculation."

Stevie inclined his head and removed the data chip from the projector, dropping it into a plastic evidence bag he produced from his pocket. Then, reaching into another pocket, he brought out a second data chip and raised it briefly before inserting it into the projector's drive.

"Of course, sir. I was carrying this on my way to the security office, but I believe it's relevant at this time," he stated. "As is encouraged of all members of the security force, I have my bedroom under surveillance 24/7 using a standard issue camcorder."

All of Butch's bodily processes went still.

"Mr. DeLoria already has a history of breaking and entering, as well as burglary." Stevie hit the playback on the projector, barely containing his glee. "Although I initially thought the matter too trivial to pursue legal action, he broke into my room to steal items I had confiscated as part of security regulations enforced last year. The footage you're about to see takes place on the date of July 13, 2276."

The display on the screen switched to a night vision video of Stevie's room. Butch's entire frame went rigid when he saw himself emerge from the wall vent. The atrium erupted in a hum of unanimous disapproval as his video image crept to the desk and picked the lock. The footage cut off right after he grabbed his items and hauled himself back into the vent, conveniently before the door opened. Butch's hackles rose at the accusatory gazes that swung his way, but he glanced to his side when Ivy's hand fell from his arm.

She was staring up at him, eyes wide with shock. "That day… my birthday last year…"

His heart sank to the pit of his stomach when he realized where this was going. _Oh no…_

"Tell me you were gone after that video," she said, her voice taking on a shaky note. "Tell me you didn't see anything that happened in the next hour."

He swallowed. This was it. The one thing he'd kept from her.

_Just lie, man. Just tell her you got the shit you needed and went back through the vent, no problem._

Everyone else had gone quiet as they observed the tension that had formed between Ivy and Butch. She continued to peer up at him, hazel irises burning into his vision, probing, pleading. He began to fidget.

_C'mon, tell her you don't know what the hell she's worried about. She doesn't need to know the truth._

But she read it in his eyes. "You were still in the vent? You just sat by and watched everything he did to me that day? You didn't try to stop him?" The tears returned, this time stemming from the devastating revelation. "That's how you learned my secret?"

_Say no. Deny everything. If you're honest now, she'll ditch you._

The vertigo returned, but even as he braced himself on the adjacent wall with one arm, he defied the inner instinct that, up to this point, made him who he was.

Butch lowered his head and steeled himself. "I'm sorry," he rasped around the lump in his throat.

He couldn't lie to her. Not anymore, not ever again.

Ivy stepped away from him, the heartbreak etched all over her face. He tried to think of something, anything, to say that would save him and make it right, but he was out of excuses. She bit her lip and strode past him, straight through the crowd that parted for her as she hurried out of the premises without a backwards glance. Amata hopped down the stage stairs and ran after her, heels clicking loudly across the floor.

Butch tasted the bitterness of something close to despair as his world shut down around him. He sensed the leers pressing in on him from all sides, but he couldn't have cared less. All the progress he'd made with Ivy in the past few months, from the friendship they'd forged to the attraction they'd stopped denying, had been wiped out in one fell swoop.

He had lost her.

"Well, I think that just proves my point," Stevie remarked, sounding satisfied.

The Overseer cleared his throat. "In light of the information presented by Officer Mack, I believe the most appropriate course of action now is to bring Mr. Gomez, Mr. Hannon, and Mr. DeLoria to the detention center for further questioning. Security, apprehend them."

As soon as the first officer took out a set of handcuffs and moved toward Freddie, a switchblade shot past them and lodged into the wood of the platform. Startled yells rang out as Butch lowered his arm and slowly straightened from the throwing position. His menacing expression offered no room for reproach, and although he addressed the Overseer, he never took his sight off Stevie.

"Believe what you want about us, but if you're gonna take on the Tunnel Snakes, we won't go quietly," Butch growled. "This is _my_ gang, _my_ code, and I look after my own. You've already destroyed Ivy. You want Freddie and Paul, you go through me."

Stevie snickered at him with equal malice. "Your call, kid. Just know that the more you resist, the more painful it's going to be."

The atrium burst into action at once. All the onlookers rushed out of the way as half a dozen security personnel advanced on the Tunnel Snakes. Butch evaded the two that charged at him by leaping on the tables again and dashing across the tops, his movements and speed powered by dark rage. The suit jacket flapped behind him as he scooped up one of the large glass centerpieces and hurled it toward the officers chasing Paul. It shattered at their feet, forcing them to slow down while Paul flashed him a thumbs-up and bolted out through the exit. Freddie was faring better with his father standing in front of him, daring the officers he outranked to try and arrest his son.

Butch jumped off the last table and landed nearby, sprinting past them to pry the Toothpick from the booth platform as the Overseer hollered into the microphone for order. After ensuring Freddie would be all right, Butch vaulted onto the platform, wielding his switchblade as Stevie drew his baton. Mutual abhorrence crackled in the air between them, so strong that the feeling alone was almost tangible. Butch wanted nothing more than to plunge the blade of his weapon deep into Stevie's abdomen, and that was exactly what he planned to do.

A sudden electrical shock at his back denied him his reprisal. The Toothpick clattered to the floor as Butch went down with it, muscles convulsing. Incapacitated, he met Wally's grim stare as the latter switched off the Taser and nodded to Stevie. Butch rued his broken friendship with the Tunnel Snake traitor before several officers seized his arms and hauled him up to bind his wrists together.

The Vault may have been convinced that he was a criminal, but this wasn't over. Even as the Overseer ordered him dragged out, he refused to give up. In the midst of the chaotic environment, with his body twitching uncontrollably, his determination to retaliate never wavered.

For a man with nothing to lose, retribution was the only logical course of action.

The opportunity presented itself in the interrogation room an hour later. Butch sat alone beneath the spotlight, recovered from the effects of the Taser, but hands still cuffed. He fixed his stare on the table in front of him, thinking. Waiting. A fragile calmness had taken root, the same type that preceded a storm. He kept time and sanity by counting in the silence. Waiting, waiting…

Finally, the door opened to reveal Stevie, who walked in and locked it behind him, smirk in place.

"Hope you've learned your lesson, DeLoria," he began, sauntering over. "Didn't I say it? That you'd be sorry? So are you feeling sorry now?"

Butch glared up at him but bit his tongue, wary about blurting something else that could be used against him.

"Not so chatty now, huh? Even with all that trouble you gave me at the formal?" Stevie folded his arms over his chest. "You should've known that you'd never win. Not against me. And what was that about a code, anyway? Some moronic gang-related creed?"

A scorching rush of energy spread through Butch, gaining momentum as he neared the breaking point.

"By the way, just thought you should know I did you one favor. That hidden cam footage of the shooting range you gave me? Sloppy editing you did there. You're still in some of the shots, so I know you were in on the target practice," Stevie informed him. "Lucky for you, I'm not handing it to the Overseer since, well, you're basically screwed, anyway. The footage of you breaking into my room was fair game, though. I keep all my surveillance recordings around for occasions like this."

"Whatever," was Butch's succinct response. _Just shut the hell up already._

"You can expect to be locked away for a long time from here on out," Stevie said, leaning closer and lowering his tone. "And you just leave Ivy to me. By the time you finish out your sentence, we'll have married and started a family, and she'll have forgotten all about the worthless punk who got what he deserved."

The idea of Ivy subjecting herself to holy matrimony with Stevie after all this was beyond absurd.

"Did you even know she was planning to kill herself because of you?" Butch spat.

A flicker of what might have been genuine alarm disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Stevie's gaze hardened. "Well, if we're talking preferences here, I'd rather her die than give her up to someone else. Too bad for you she didn't just do that, right?"

_What. The. FUCK._

Limit reached. Butch snapped.

With a surge of adrenaline, he broke cleanly through the chain of his cuffs and shot to his feet, swinging a well-aimed punch at Stevie's face. The action caught the security officer off guard, and he had just enough time to wipe off his gloating expression before Butch's fist slammed into his cheekbone with such force that he went crashing into the nearby wall. Stevie grunted at the impact, shooting his assailant an incredulous look before dodging the next attack.

The older man stumbled backwards a few steps, swiping at the drop of blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth as he glowered at his opponent. Butch took the opportunity to shed his suit jacket and rip open the front of his dress shirt to get a better range of motion. The serpent pendant gleamed from around his neck. It had been a while, but he had built his physique on hand to hand combat, and he was ready to bring on the brawl.

Stevie sized him up, throwing off his protective vest in a wordless gesture that suggested he considered Butch a minimal threat. They circled each other in the confined space, waiting for an opening, a signal to hit or counter. Neither paid any heed to the incessant knocking on the locked door. Butch's heightened senses lent him more focus than he'd had in previous clashes. He felt it in his bones; the strength granted by sheer hatred and ire. This fight had been a long time coming, and he intended to come out on top.

He initiated the first strike.

Darting forward, Butch swung a quick uppercut toward the other man's jaw, which Stevie blocked with ease. He countered by shoving his elbow into Butch's ribs, the same set that had been kicked earlier that day. Butch winced, but ducked to avoid a second jab, his pain threshold currently so high that his speed never decreased as he swept out a leg to kick the back of Stevie's knees. The latter anticipated the move and hopped out of the way, delivering his own kick that grazed Butch in the chin.

Blood drawn, bruises forming, both men exchanged blow after blow as the round drew on. A solid right hook split Stevie's lip, and Butch took a heavy slug to the shoulder before parrying a second. Time sped in a flurry of concentrated punches and brutal vitality. Every hit he scored, he did so for Ivy and all she'd endured. The sound of his knuckles colliding over and over with Stevie's frame sent bolts of satisfaction through his limbs. Butch would have pummeled him until the other officers broke the door down, but Stevie managed to reverse one of his cross punches and shoved him hard.

An expletive cut through the heated room as Butch fell off balance and landed on his side. Stevie was on him in an instant, locking him in a chokehold. The pressure on his windpipe amped up his willpower, and he clutched at the arm cutting off his oxygen. Stevie may have overpowered him before, but Butch was operating on a completely different level now. Mentally, he had shut down, driven by the wish for vengeance and the urge to deal the justice owed to him. And Stevie's attempt to take him out only pissed him off even more.

_Not this time, asshole._

He grabbed the serpent pendant in one hand and gouged its spines into Stevie's exposed arm, dragging it through and tearing into the skin. With a howl, the other man released him and rose as he clutched his bleeding limb. Butch followed up with an unrestrained wallop that sent Stevie careening into the metal table. His strength outmatched the older man's now, and with ruthless hands, he seized Stevie's head and slammed his skull into the sharp edge of the metal surface.

Stevie went slack at once. Butch dropped him and watched his motionless body crumple in a heap, the rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was still alive. The loud pounding and yells from the other side of the door continued to go ignored while Butch held onto the chair for stability as the room began to spin.

"How you like that, Mack? I wasn't sorry then, and I ain't sorry now," he slurred, the edges of his vision going black. "You'd better leave Ivy alone while I get this legal shitstorm sorted out. If you don't, first thing I'll do when I'm released is fucking kill you."

Breathing heavily, he wobbled on his feet as the adrenaline wore off and overexertion set in.

"Oh, and about my gang's creed. Tunnel Snakes rule. It's the serpent code, motherfucker."

And without further ceremony, he collapsed.


	10. Chapter 10

**(August 2277)**

**_Part 1_ **

He popped the zinc tablet into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of water as Officer Kendall looked on. The daily dosage helped with his perpetual lethargy, which he supposed was a good thing, but for the past three months he didn't much care whether he was conscious or passed out most days. Once he finished, he handed the cup back to the older man, who nodded and glanced down at his clipboard.

"Don't head back to your community service session just yet. You have a visitor lined up in ten minutes."

Butch scowled, wiping his hands on the orange fabric of his prison uniform. If he had to sit with Ellen one more time and listen to her mouth say she believed him while her eyes told a different story, he was going to flip a table. Despite the amount of time that had passed since the incident at the spring formal, he still couldn't fully convince his own mother—much less anyone in a position of authority—that he was innocent of all charges. People whispered that the apple didn't fall far from the tree, that history repeated itself.

Everyone believed he had become his father.

"If it ain't a conjugal visit from a chick wanting to get a piece of this, you can tell 'em to fuck off," Butch snapped, turning from the desk.

"All right. I'll inform Ivy Ashburn that her standard visitation request was not to your liking," Officer Kendall said dryly.

That stopped Butch in his tracks. _Ivy?_

He whirled back around, squashing the sliver of hope that dared to rise inside him. "What's she wanna see me for now? I haven't even heard anything about her since freakin' May."

The security officer gave him a flat look and drawled, "Maybe you'd like to take this visit after all and find out? Quite frankly, I'm astounded she even wants to speak with you."

"Up yours, Kendall."

"Watch the attitude and get to the meeting rooms. They don't pay me enough to take lip from you."

Butch rolled his eyes and trudged out of the office, passing a few other detainees going in for their midday meds. The reinforced cuffs on his wrists clinked together as he made his way through the busy lobby of the Vault detention center. Security personnel stationed at every corner watched him warily, but he refrained from shooting them his customary dirty looks as his thoughts strayed to Ivy's presence. After months of dead silence, this impending visit surprised him and instilled both anticipation and dread in his gut. He listed to himself several prospective reasons for her coming here, none of which ended in his favor. Call him pessimistic; cynicism had become an integral component of his character.

Still, he couldn't quite rid himself of the jittery feeling as he entered the bright hallway leading to the meeting rooms. So as soon as the officer at the checkpoint patted him down and unlocked his cuffs, he dug into his pocket for his cigarettes. Raising one, he lifted an eyebrow and refused to move along until the officer sighed and produced a lighter. Butch puffed on the nicotine stick and blew a cloud of smoke toward the other man's face, smirking when the officer coughed and angrily ordered him to wait in the closest vacant room on the left.

He started to relax by the time he walked into the bare space and took a seat in one of the worn metal chairs. His hand went to his chest, felt around for the serpent pendant that had been confiscated along with his Toothpick and Pip-Boy at the beginning of his sentence. He still hadn't gotten used to its absence. The minutes passed as he flicked the cigarette ash into the tray on the stained table, preparing himself for whatever Ivy had to say. And once he thought he was as ready as he'd ever be, a pair of shadows darkened the open doorway.

Ivy strode in, with Dr. Ashburn right behind her.

Butch automatically put out the cigarette when she fixed him with an indecipherable expression. He stared back, surprised that she still wore her Tunnel Snake jacket over her jumpsuit. Her fingers came up to brush her overgrown bangs aside as she and her father sat across from him, the legs of their chairs scraping over the floor. A new hardened exterior had replaced the distraught girl he'd last seen running out of the atrium, evident in the rigidity of her posture and the steely glint in her eye. Once settled in, she drummed neatly trimmed nails on the surface of the table and glanced at Dr. Ashburn, whose facial lines deepened as he studied the younger man opposite from them.

The room lapsed into awkward silence. Butch tried not to cower under the scrutiny, but the gazes that pinned him to his seat were sharp and unyielding, and he knew they still blamed him for part of everything that had happened. Either that or they considered all of it his fault by now. Not that it mattered by this point. Coughing into a fist to break the strained atmosphere, he sent Ivy a cautious look.

"So… what're ya doin' here?" he asked before turning to her father, who produced a small pocket notebook from his white lab coat. "And how's it goin', Doc?"

Dr. Ashburn's baleful glare was his only response.

Ivy's face didn't change as she said in a businesslike tone, "I told my dad the whole story. He knows everything, from your role in the blackmail to Stevie abusing me. It's been a difficult three months doing damage control up there, but overall, our positions in the Vault haven't been jeopardized."

"Oh, uh… so in the end, everything's cool for you guys?" Butch inquired, attempting to sound casual.

"That's the thing. It's not the end," Ivy told him as she took the notebook from her father and scanned a few pages. "We've been building a case to get the truth out in the open. There was a lot we had to dig up, and in retrospect, I shouldn't have waited this long to come forward." Her eyes flickered to him. "We're working on overturning your sentence and getting you the hell out of here."

Butch sat up straighter, not quite believing his ears. "Seriously? After… ya know, everything?"

"I'm claiming my share of responsibility in this," Dr. Ashburn spoke up, voice as gravelly as ever. "I was the one who set up that shooting range in the first place, and when Ivy came clean about all that had transpired…" He trailed off and shook his head, scowling at the table. "Anyway, although you're not entirely guiltless, Butch, this punishment isn't yours to endure. I'm aiming to have Stevie Mack take your place."

Butch swallowed, not sure how to react to this news. As he watched them, a brief memory of this pair during the first day of school flashed across his mind. The dramatic and continuous changes to their circumstances since then were almost unreal. The doting dad had become a weathered father on a manhunt, and the scared little girl had become a hard-bitten young woman with a score to settle. His initial enemies were now his only allies, and words simply weren't enough to convey his appreciation for their help.

"What's the matter, Butch? Don't tell me you're having a blast down here and want to stay," Ivy quipped, the corner of her mouth lifting.

He gave her a small grin in return. "Nah. They got me building Pip-Boys for community service, and as comfy as this prison suit is, orange ain't really my color."

Dr. Ashburn leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "All right, then. Besides, I suppose I owe you for using one of the springs in your switchblade to fix Ivy's BB gun all those years ago," he grunted.

Butch blinked at him. "Wait… what?"

"Back on topic," Ivy cut in, growing somber again. "We're doing all we can, but even with the help we've gathered, it's not enough."

"Hold on, who's helping out?" Butch questioned, genuinely curious.

She flipped through the notebook, reading off a couple of notes. "Amata, for one. After the formal, I told her the truth, and now she's working on getting the Overseer to open his ears to us. Jonas is a given, and he's been helping my dad with their part of the case. Freddie and his dad are on our side, organizing the evidence I gave them and trying to obtain a search warrant for the Macks' apartment. Since Paul is the son of the security chief, he's been on the fence, but he's sympathetic to our cause. I've asked him to try and persuade Chief Hannon to grant the warrant to Officer Gomez."

Butch peered down at his hands clasped together in his lap. "What about Wally?"

Ivy took a while to answer. "I haven't been able to make any headway with him. He won't listen to me, Paul, or Freddie." The leather of her jacket sleeve creased as she rubbed the back of her neck. "He renounced the Tunnel Snakes a while ago. He's sticking with Stevie, Butch."

Disappointment weighed down his features, but he couldn't say he was shocked. "Yeah, I figured." Raking his fingers through his messy hair, he glanced wearily at her. "So what's your big plan, anyway? Wanna fill me in?"

She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her fists, appearing pensive. "It comes in two phases. The first phase entails dealing with the original issue. Since Stevie has already revealed my pictures to the public, the only thing he has left over me is your footage of the shooting range. What he doesn't know is that my dad is planning on telling the Overseer about it himself once Amata gives us the green light."

Dr. Ashburn nodded, reaching out to stroke his daughter's head. "And I'm prepared to take on the consequences. I just wish you didn't have to go through what you did, honey."

"It's fine, Dad, and it's in the past," Ivy declared, patting his arm.

Butch observed the exchange of affection without experiencing the typical emotions of envy or bitterness. On the contrary, he felt oddly relieved that they had made amends. He saw the fierce determination that united them, the silent forgiveness that had restored their familial bond. Although his own relationship with his mother had deteriorated beyond possible repair, he no longer harbored any antipathy whatsoever toward Ivy and her father.

The strength that radiated from her now, after she'd had to pick herself up over and over again, took him aback. Whatever had broken within her during the presentation of Stevie's illicit slideshow had healed, mended, come back stronger. After witnessing the example she'd set, he finally understood what fortitude meant.

"The second phase," Ivy continued as she returned her attention to Butch, "entails pinning it all back on Stevie and clearing your name. This is the part that gets tricky."

"Yeah, damn. I can see why," he remarked, exhaling. "The son of a bitch had an answer for everything I threw at him. How're you even gonna start on that?"

Ivy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I do have one important piece of evidence," she replied, her lashes lowering. "When I was pregnant, I conducted a prenatal paternity test on myself using various DNA samples from Stevie's blood and hair to verify that he was the father in case he decided to bail. There's a time and date stamp on the test in our medical database."

Butch massaged a knuckle into his temple. "So that's just to prove that he knocked you up?"

"It's to prove that he impregnated me when I was still seventeen. That he was having sexual relations with a minor."

Dr. Ashburn bristled, visibly agitated at the subject. Butch sucked in a deep breath as he considered the uphill battle ahead. He knew little of the age of consent laws in the Vault, but one would think the ten-year difference between Stevie and Ivy spoke for itself.

"Once the first phase is complete, I'm going to formally testify against Stevie," Ivy went on. "It's just… the big hitch is the evidence. All I have for certain is the paternity test—which the Overseer may not even acknowledge—to charge Stevie with statutory rape. I don't have anything that will identify him as the one who coerced me into the pictures and chems, and he's already swayed most of the Vault into believing that you're perpetrator."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Butch muttered. Of course this wouldn't be easy. "So even if you, the victim, tell everyone that he's the bastard responsible, we're still shit outta luck?"

"It comes down to Stevie's word against yours and Ivy's," Dr. Ashburn chimed in, scratching at his stubble. "Publicly, Officer Mack has been a model member of the security force. Ivy's claims implicating him could be dismissed as the effects of Stockholm syndrome; that she had developed an attachment to you during your alleged manipulations."

Butch slumped down in his seat as his fingers inched toward his pocket for another cigarette. Remembering that he didn't have a lighter on hand, he settled for curling his fists into the fabric of his pants in aggravation. From what he took out of this conversation, they were going in circles. None of it came with any certainty, and while their efforts were commendable, he couldn't help wondering if they were wasting their time.

Ivy seemed to read his thoughts from his body language. "Don't be discouraged just yet. Once I present my testimony, our chances for acquiring a search warrant will increase. I'm willing to bet Stevie is still in possession of chems, and since he had those duplicates, I've got a strong feeling he has more stored away. This is where you come in, Butch."

He immediately scooted back as far as he could. "Oh, hell no. I ain't crawlin' through anymore vents—"

"No, I mean I wanted to ask if you know anything that could help us out," Ivy interrupted. "I realize it's a stretch, but when you went in to retrieve the originals, did you see anything else that looked like it could have contained any data? Anything we should keep an eye out for once we can search his apartment?"

Butch frowned, scouring his memory. The retrieval had been a quick in-and-out job. Sticking around to see the sights and peruse the premises hadn't exactly been at the top of his priority list, and he couldn't recall noticing any other red flags. And given how tightly Stevie kept his stuff locked up, they'd probably have better luck tricking him into confessing somehow.

_Wait._

He did know something.

"Yeah! That's right, I almost forgot," Butch exclaimed, leaning forward. "When he had me in the interrogation room after shit went down, he blabbed somethin' big. You know how he has his place under camcorder surveillance and caught me breakin' in? He said he keeps all of it. All the recordings of his room, tucked away somewhere. _All of it._ "

Ivy inhaled sharply and exchanged glances with her father. "So that means… he would have the footage of him and me together," she concluded in a tight voice. "Do you think he really would? That's two years' worth."

Dr. Ashburn grabbed the notebook and jotted down the new information. "It's more than we had to go on before. We'll take every possibility we can get."

Butch's heart raced with renewed hope. If Stevie did keep the surveillance recordings around, they had a shot at winning this.

"Did he tell you anything else that we can use?" Dr. Ashburn demanded once he looked up from his furious scribbling.

"That was pretty much it, but he also mentioned that my footage of the shooting range wasn't edited real good." Butch shrugged. "Said I was still in some of the shots, but it don't really matter now."

Ivy suddenly slammed her palms down on the table, startling the two men. Eyes alight with fervor, she said, "That matters _a lot_. There's video proof of you at target practice with me. It'll depict our relationship and our interactions, prove that coercion between us was unlikely. But most of all, it'll show what we were up to during our downtime for six years." She moved closer until her chest pressed against the table's edge. "Do you understand what this means? _That's_ your alibi."

Several seconds passed before it dawned on Butch.

"My ticket outta here," he breathed, starting to get it. _Damn, we just might be able to pull this thing off._

Dr. Ashburn finished writing in the notebook and stuffed it back into his pocket as he rose. "I think this suffices for implementing that step of the plan. I'm going to head back to the clinic and brief Jonas on what we've gathered here." Sending Butch a curt nod, he added, "Your assistance is much appreciated."

"Sure thing, Doc." _Considering your plan's success means my freedom._

"Dad, I'm going to stay here for a bit longer to talk to Butch," Ivy stated, giving her father a look that left no room for arguments.

Dr. Ashburn's disapproving stare lasted only a few moments. Then, sighing, he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "All right. Don't be too long." At the doorway, he turned back briefly. "I hope those zinc tablets are working out well for you, Butch."

Once he disappeared, Butch cocked his head to the side. "How'd he know I've been taking zinc?"

Ivy absently fiddled with the settings of her Pip-Boy. "He was the one who prescribed the tablets when we found out you collapsed after the formal."

"Oh. Guess I should say thanks the next time I see your dad."

She didn't respond right away. A troubled expression had come over her face as she remained fixated on the device on her wrist. Butch got the notion that she was stalling on something, but he had too many questions circling around in his mind to dwell on her demeanor. The whirlwind of the meeting had left him lightheaded and starved for answers.

"Hey, Ivy. You still mad at me for not tellin' you how I really found out about your secret?" he asked gingerly.

She peered at him, her body stilling. No response came forth. He tensed and wished she'd just take it out on him. Yell, slap him, anything besides that blank gaze that revealed nothing of her feelings. It unnerved him, maybe to the point where he felt a little intimidated. And as her former aggressor, that said a lot.

"Look, I know I should've done somethin' when I was there in the vent, but the shock, man. I fuckin' froze," Butch explained, aware that it all sounded so feeble. "If I could, I'd go back and do it over—"

"Don't worry about it. It's done," Ivy interjected.

 _Yep, she's still pissed,_ he lamented to himself, all delusions of continuing where they'd left off in the storage room evaporating. _Well, at least she doesn't hate me enough to let me rot behind bars._

She examined her Pip-Boy again and tapped her pinky on the interface, a mannerism he recognized as a sign of her anxiety. But before he could question her about it, she spoke almost flippantly.

"I understand chivalry and honesty aren't really your strong suit."

Butch hesitated as the insult sunk in. _Whoa, hold up, what the fuck?_

He found that completely uncalled for. He'd already owned up to everything he'd done wrong, and then some. He had done what he could to help her when she'd hit rock bottom, made sure she was safe, and even took the fall for her unhinged stalker. She was angry, he got that, but this was just unfair.

As he glowered at her, his temper took over his mouth. "Okay, so you're takin' it in this direction? You wanna talk about honesty? Let's swing this back to you. Something's been bothering me for a long time, and I need an _honest_ answer," he snarled, his words dripping with venom. "I hear you and Stevie actually used to be a couple for real, that you were with him by choice. That true?"

The flat line of her lips revealed all. Breaking off eye contact, she murmured, "So he told you?"

A vein in his neck throbbed. Confirmation.

Butch shot to his feet at once, knocking over his chair behind him. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? What the hell did I put in all that effort for, then? What am I even doin' here? And all that bullshit about how the blackmail and everything was my fault. If this is just some fuckin' lovers' spat… Jesus, Ivy, you totally played me!"

Her verification had sparked a rush of fury that obscured a few details, but he was too worked up to get his facts straight. The reality that she had willingly been with Stevie at some point dealt a blow to his stomach. He couldn't stop the images that came flooding in, depicting his obliviousness of her bedroom activities during their high school years. The thought of her shooting with him by day and writhing in Stevie's arms by night drove him insane.

Jealousy itself was an adverse emotion, but coming from his perspective, it felt much more potent.

She rose as well, equally incensed. "Stop jumping to conclusions and chill out. My relationship with Stevie was over a long time ago, and if you hadn't given him the footage of the shooting range in the first place, it would have stayed over," she snapped. "Even when I was his girlfriend, it wasn't entirely consensual on my end. I was young and impressionable."

"He said you used to beg him for sex," Butch accused, unwilling to back down. "That he was the one you ran to when we were kids. How could you date that pedophile?"

"Besides my dad and Jonas, who were always busy, he was the only guy who gave me the time of day," Ivy shot back. "I had a relentless bully who made my life hell at every opportunity, so when an older male came along and treated me all nice and sweet, I latched on."

Butch fumed in place, even angrier at the insinuation that the blame could be traced, once again, back to him. "That's the sorriest excuse I've ever heard. You were so fuckin' blind you couldn't see what he was after?"

Ivy flushed and leaned down to brace herself on the table. In a gentler tone, she said, "Yes. That's it precisely."

He didn't move from his overbearing position, but he shut his mouth as she gathered her composure and returned to her seat.

"I never had a mom to teach me better. My dad, of course, had no idea what was going on," she declared. "Stevie and I didn't start out like this. The first time he spoke to me was after he'd found me under one of the couches in the cigar lounge, sick from the smoke because I was hiding from you. He took me to the clinic right away, where he defended me from my dad, who was very angry and worried. After that, I put my trust him."

Butch pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Oh, come on. That nice act is the oldest trick in the book, Ivy."

"I was six years old. I couldn't have known," she returned defensively. "He was decent to me, like a big brother, at least until I started growing up. Looking back, I sensed his feelings change once I hit my preteens, but couldn't pinpoint it. I started putting some distance between us, and that was when you and I began hanging out at target practice, even if we still hated each other." She paused to sigh, jaded. "Remember when you found out about the shooting range? That Christmas when we both skipped the annual dinner, and I had the barrel of the BB gun on your forehead as soon as you opened the door?"

"Yeah," Butch grunted in annoyance.

"I was avoiding Stevie at the time. It was the only place he wouldn't have thought to look for me, which was why I was willing to share it with you as long as you kept it quiet."

Butch scowled as he mentally added another notch to his track record of guilt. "But you still ended up dating him later on."

He really wasn't going to let that go.

"Because after years of having to deal with you constantly harassing me and putting me down, I had little self-esteem. Stevie had always been there, telling me things I wanted to hear, telling me I was special to him. So in my early teens, against my better judgment, I went for it."

Butch had the sudden urge to kick his own ass. _Well, that's just great. Turns out I drove her into his clutches not once, but twice. Nice job, Butch-man._

Ivy ran a hand through her hair, tousling the auburn locks. "When I started to like you, Stevie was furious. But he couldn't actually do anything about it until he got the ammunition to corner me." She folded her arms over the table, still not meeting his gaze. "I should've told you about my history with him, but I didn't think it would make a difference. I hadn't anticipated that you'd become interested in me, if that was what that was in the storage room at the spring formal."

Heat crept up Butch's neck, and his wrath receded as he righted his chair to sit back down. He would own up to that, too, but he'd never put it into words, his rollercoaster of feelings for her. The time and circumstances had never been right, and he still wasn't sure if now was the time to contemplate it.

Deciding against pursuing that topic, he stared at her intently. "Stevie been bothering you at all since I got sent to the slammer?"

She lifted her chin. "He's tried, but I've called his bluff each time he brought up the shooting range footage. I think he knows I'm up to something, so he's backed off to observe from the shadows. And it helps that I have a lot of people supporting me now."

"That's good," Butch remarked, calming down as sincere relief filled him.

A wry smile softened her features. "Also, he only recently went back on active duty. My dad and I might have been a bit slow on his healthcare when he was rushed in after your fight. You did quite a number on him that evening."

Butch's chest inflated, always quick to absorb any compliment. "What can I say? Fucker had it comin', and I'm just that awesome."

She mumbled her agreement and returned to tinkering with her Pip-Boy.

He watched her, wondering what she had on her mind. “You’ve been messin’ around with that thing for a while now.”

“Ah… yeah. We just had the annual Pip-Boy checkup,” she told him offhandedly. A minute went by before she said, "Hey, I'm sorry for that jab about your chivalry and honesty. It was really hypocritical of me, and I think it was actually aimed at myself."

His brow knitted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The troubled look returned, and she took a deep breath before raising her eyes to him, the distress clear on her face. "There's something else I need to talk to you about. It's important."

Butch's pulse picked up. She had finally stopped stalling, but he knew that tone. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

"Do you remember that physical my dad did for you back in November last year?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I needed it for my work file. Why?"

Ivy seemed to struggle with herself as she attempted to put up the professional mask she usually presented while on intern duty. "Butch… we found something."

When she activated her Pip-Boy, an automated voice he vaguely recognized filled the room.

"Welcome to Ashburn medical records database, user IVY ASHBURN. Accessing classified files for BUTCH DELORIA. Accessing last test taken on NOVEMBER 10, 2276. Results for CERULOPLASMIN TEST available. Accessing results. Retrieved. Blood copper levels indicate hepatolenticular degeneration. Patient afflicted with Wilson's disease."

Although he had no idea what that was, his heart pounded hard against his ribcage. Ivy powered down her Pip-Boy unsteadily.

"Your dad didn't die of liver deterioration and failure from alcoholism. It was Wilson's, a genetic disorder that can manifest as liver disease," she told him in a hoarse voice. "I'm sorry, Butch. You have the same thing."

In the span of an instant, his surroundings slowed and came to a standstill. How was that even possible? He had always been healthy and fit and at the top of his game. He'd taken care of his mother, nursed a sick girl back to health, beaten up a man in one-on-one combat. Now he was supposed to believe he had some sort of disease that had killed his alcoholic father? His brain refused to register it.

"That's gotta be some mistake," he declared, shifting his line of sight away. "Ya got the wrong guy. I mean, c'mon, I'm in my prime here."

Ivy gripped her hands together to stop their shaking. "The reason you've experienced dizziness and exhaustion all year, the reason you bleed excessively and pass out from overexertion, the reason you're on zinc tablets now, are all due to Wilson's." She tried to catch his eye. "That ring of copper around your irises… I first pointed it out in your shop when you gave me that haircut in January. It's one symptom. And why do you think I've been so against you drinking alcohol?"

Butch didn't want to buy it, but there was an undisputable truth to her words about the signs.

Still doubtful, he asked, "Well, if I do have it, how do I get rid of it? I'm guessin' we caught this early on, so do I just nip it in the bud?"

"Currently… there is no cure," Ivy replied, lowering her gaze. "We've been working on a treatment, and in the pre-war days they used penicillamine or trientine hydrochloride as tentative medications for Wilson's. The problem is that our resources in the Vault are limited."

Nothing was ever simple.

The rage returned, but he reigned it in, kept it simmering beneath the surface. "And you hid this from me why? So I'd stick around and right my wrongs without having a goddamn clue?" he demanded. "Make sure I didn't bail on you when I found out I was fuckin' ill?"

Unfazed by his hostility, she shook her head. "I didn't tell you because your dad specifically ordered mine to keep it a secret. I don't know why. But when your body gave out after you and Stevie had that violent altercation, I got scared that your case may be more advanced than we'd thought."

Butch curled his fingers around the armrests of his chair, gripping the metal so tightly that his hands went cold. Hank. It was always Hank. Everything wrong with Butch's life, from his rocky upbringing to the infamous DeLoria legacy he'd had to live with in the Vault, was because of his father. And now, some kind of liver disease had even been passed on, casting Hank's shadow further over Butch. Even in death, the father hadn't loosened his hold on the son.

The room fell quiet for several minutes as both occupants lost themselves in their own thoughts. Butch peered over at Ivy, who appeared grief-stricken. Although he was aware she wasn't at fault, he couldn't help the spiteful feeling that this situation was far too familiar. Just as Dr. Ashburn had broken the news of the disease to Hank, Ivy had done the same with Butch. As misinformed as the Vault residents were when it came to him, they were correct in one regard.

History repeated itself.

"All right. Just do what you need to do to get me outta here," Butch stated quietly, standing.

Ivy looked up at him and studied his solemn manner as he headed for the exit. "Hey, wait—"

"Once I'm out, if you need any more help with Stevie, let me know. But other than that, you won't need to worry about me." He glanced back over his shoulder at her anxious face. "I'll stay away from you from now on."

There was no use pursuing anything further with her, no point weighing her down when she was finally up and thriving on her own two feet. Something heavy had settled in his chest, and he had grown too tired to continue fighting it. The knowledge of his condition had convinced him.

He was doomed to follow in his father's footsteps, all the way to the grave.


	11. Chapter 11

**(August 2277)**

**_Part 2_ **

_Free man walkin'. Get the hell outta my way._

The indignant yelps of the women he shouldered past went ignored as he adjusted the restored Pip-Boy on his wrist and tucked the serpent pendant under the collar of his jumpsuit. His back pocket held the familiar weight of the Toothpick, and although his jacket smelled musty from spending three months stuffed inside a tiny locker, he felt complete again the instant he donned it. The steel corridors of the upper level welcomed him with familiar gray walls, a sight he realized he'd missed during his time locked away.

A vicelike grip clamped onto his forearm, and Chief Hannon's gruff voice brought him back down to reality. "Don't get too comfortable out here, son. Depending on how this goes, you might be heading right back to the detention center for the next few years."

_Okay… not exactly free man, but close enough._

Butch snorted. "C'mon, Chief. At least let me enjoy the walk without you holdin' my hand, huh?"

"You've got an awfully blasé attitude for someone on his way to a trial that'll determine his fate."

"Well, let's just say my community service was the best thing your nut job security force ever did for me."

Chief Hannon stared at him as they proceeded toward the admin floor. "I'm not sure what's going through that head of yours, but I knew there was a reason I didn't like my boy hanging around you."

"Join the club, Chief. I hear Officer Gomez is the president."

Butch brushed aside the older man's disapproval and slipped his game face on once they approached the Overseer's office. Upon stepping inside, the air dropped to a stark chill, more from the subzero glares exchanged among the occupants than from the temperature itself. Two groups of people faced off from opposite sides of the room while the Overseer perched himself behind his desk in the far center. His eyes narrowed as soon as the newcomers entered his field of vision, but Butch's attention immediately veered to the left.

Ivy sat in a chair flanked by Dr. Ashburn and Amata, face set in a stony expression as Jonas Palmer read something off his notebook behind her. Paul, Freddie, and Officer Gomez all clustered around them, alternating between arguing amongst themselves and peering across the floor at their opponents. Butch stiffened when his gaze traveled to the other side and clashed with Wally's, and in eerie, simultaneous fashion, the entire Mack family turned to regard him with matching glowers. Stevie stood at the forefront and wore the standard 101 jumpsuit instead of his security uniform, a nasty scar running diagonally over his forehead. His customary sneer had been replaced by a deadly countenance that promised retaliation for all this trouble.

Butch responded to the enmity by flipping them the bird.

"Now that Mr. DeLoria has graced us with his charming presence, may we begin?" the Overseer barked.

Ivy glanced at Butch and whispered something to Amata before breaking away from her group and heading over.

"This is a waste of time, Alphonse," Allen Mack snapped, glaring at everyone unrelated to him in the office. "My son had already caught the culprit of the atrocity that occurred during the spring formal, but now the ungrateful Ashburn girl dares to stir up these claims accusing Stevie of the crime?"

"Because it's the truth," Dr. Ashburn shot back, sounding twice as angry. "You saw the evidence we presented yesterday."

"All I saw was some blurry footage of some kind of BB gun playground and a bullshit 'paternity test' that could have been forged by the most simple-minded of primates," Mr. Mack spat.

Dr. Ashburn looked the furthest thing from a medical professional at that moment, and he wasted no time launching into a scathing tirade about where Stevie stood on the evolutionary scale. As the argument escalated, Ivy reached Butch's side and gestured for Chief Hannon to unhand him. Grasping his wrist, she tugged him toward the nearby corner. Butch tried his best to maintain his indifference in light of the previous week's discovery of his illness, but her touch seared into his skin, testing his resolve to keep her at a distance.

"Just to get you up to speed," she started in a low voice as the Overseer hollered for the verbally dueling fathers to desist, "we made our move yesterday. I submitted my testimony, and Officer Gomez searched Stevie's room and apartment, but all that turned up was the shooting range footage. It was enough to convince the Overseer to let you out of the detention center for this pseudo-trial, but we didn't find any chems, copies, surveillance recordings, or even his camcorder. The paternity test results are being analyzed right now for authenticity, and if they're not accepted as sufficient evidence, we're fighting an uphill battle."

He nodded and processed her words carefully. "'Kay. I'll take it from here."

She paused, blinking up at him. "What?"

"You got me here so I could help out, right? Well, step aside and let the Butch-man work his magic."

Ivy's dismayed look was almost insulting. He shook off her reservations and sauntered all the way up to the Overseer's desk, cranking the insolence up to maximum by spinning around and eclipsing the Vault leader.

"Oh Lord, we're letting Butch talk first?" Officer Gomez asked Dr. Ashburn loudly.

Butch ignored him as he addressed both groups. "All right, this fucker owes me for three months of my life I'll never get back, so let's make this quick," he declared, scowling at Stevie.

The Overseer rose behind him. "Mr. DeLoria, kindly move your impudent self out of my view and into the witness seat over there. Remember that even if you manage to prove your own innocence, you have accumulated enough demerits to earn a vocational transfer to septic tank cleaning."

"Before I bring out the big guns," Butch continued as if the Overseer hadn't spoken, "how are you gonna stand there after seein' footage of me and Ivy covering six years and still think I'm the one who forced her into those fucked up pictures? Huh, Mack Sr.?"

"Other than your abysmal record of social misconduct?" Mr. Mack snarled. "Your alibi has no substance. We have no reason to believe you weren't manipulating her when the camera wasn't rolling. Other than classes and that footage, how are we supposed to account for the rest of your free time during 2274-2276?"

"I can answer that," a new voice replied.

All eyes snapped to the door, where Edwin Brotch had appeared with a bulky manila folder under his arm. Most of his past students in the room expressed surprise at his attendance, and out of the corner of his eye, Butch glimpsed Stevie gawking at his childhood friend.

"Edwin? What the hell are you doing here?" Stevie demanded.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Brotch," Amata piped up, shushing her father when the Overseer echoed Stevie's question. "I appreciate you showing up to help out Ivy."

Their former teacher strode to the front of the Overseer's desk next to Butch, dropping the folder onto the surface. "Just call me Edwin; we're all adults here. And actually, what I have would probably be of more help to Mr. DeLoria."

Butch's eyebrows shot skyward. "Really?"

The Overseer finally relinquished control of his desk and came around to the side of it, features scrunched up in irritation as he ordered Chief Hannon to standby. While Paul and Freddie inched closer to get a better look, Officer Gomez hurried to intercept Stevie, who had begun stomping in Edwin's direction. The rustling sound of papers accompanied the Mack family's protests, which died down when Edwin spoke again.

"Knowing Butch as long as I have, I can tell you that he's one of the laziest, most hard-headed, most aggravating students I ever had the misfortune of dealing with," he deadpanned. "He was always late, rarely turned in his homework, and spent more time combing his hair than listening to the lecture whenever he did make it to class."

Butch's lip curled in outrage. "What the fuck! Whose side are ya on, anyway, Brotch?!"

"But because he was such a horrible, careless individual in regards to his education," Edwin went on as if Butch wasn't on the verge of slugging him, "I have proof that there is no way he could have been responsible for the creation of those pictures."

The office went silent as he began flipping through the numerous files.

"Butch DeLoria, afternoon detention on January 16-27, 2274. Butch DeLoria, morning detention on February 2-9, 2274. Butch DeLoria, mandatory study hall on February 10-28, 2274. Detention March 3-10, 2274. Study hall March 12-23, 2274…"

Butch wasn't sure whether to be pissed off or absurdly grateful for his own academic negligence. Edwin listed all his school punishments over the span of two years, covering every week of every month. While it would have been laughable (and pathetic) under other circumstances, listening to his history of his utter educational failures was music to Butch's ears at this moment.

"So as you can see, he was quite busy during that period. Any time gaps not accounted for can be chalked up to other essential activities. Like eating and sleeping," Edwin stated flatly. "The odds of his involvement in those exploitative pictures of Ivy are slim to none."

Stevie's expression appeared similar to what Butch imagined his own had been at Wally's treachery. His muscles grew taut beneath his jumpsuit, and Officer Gomez lifted a restraining arm to keep him from barreling forward.

"That doesn't mean shit. Bottom line is that DeLoria belongs behind bars," Stevie growled. "I won't forget this, Edwin."

Closing the folder, the teacher swung his sharp gaze to him. "Butch was the biggest pain in my ass for years, and he wasn't winning any popularity contests. But he was still one of my students." His dark face took on a menacing quality. "And I don't like it when someone accuses my students of outrageous crimes they didn't commit."

_Aw, Brotch, even though you're a fuckin' punk for putting it that way, you're all right._

Butch clapped a hand on the other's shoulder. "Thanks, man."

"Don't thank me just yet. Not until you and Ivy are out of this mess."

Nonetheless, he was grateful for Edwin's support. Ivy and her group stared hard at the Overseer, who seemed to contemplate the additional information as Amata endorsed it with her unnecessary, supplemental, firsthand accounts of seeing Butch serving each detention. Paul and Freddie jumped in by adding concurrent statements about the Tunnel Snake hangouts in the rec room during those years, though Wally tried to negate their anecdotes from across the way. Stevie had begun quarreling with his parents, and Susie took the opportunity to voice her indignation.

"I knew I never liked you, you bitch, and I hope you get what's coming to you for involving my whole family in this stupid situation," she snarled at Ivy. "And Amata, you totally sold out. I can't believe you're buying into her story."

"I can't believe you're bothering to talk when you have nothing of substance to add here," Ivy fired back, simultaneously amusing and impressing Butch.

His optimism increased until Mr. Mack cut Stevie off and advanced toward the Overseer.

"You can't possibly be thinking about overturning DeLoria's sentence," he griped. "Do you not remember all the concrete evidence that pointed to him as the guilty party?"

The Overseer frowned. "Yes, yes, I'm taking it all into consideration."

"Taking it all—there is nothing to consider!" Mr. Mack roared. "Let me ask you this. Where is the proof that it was _Stevie_?"

Butch spotted his chance, and a sly grin spread over his face as he motioned Ivy over. "I got your answer right here."

She gave him a bewildered look, but went to his side without questioning him. Dr. Ashburn barked at the Macks to quiet down as Butch took her wrist and activated her Pip-Boy.

"Y'know, funny thing about community service and workin' on Pip-Boys with old Stanley. You learn some nerd shit that just might come in handy down the road," he said. Scrolling through her interface, he smiled in self-assurance when he found what he needed. "For example, take this model. The Pip-Boy 3000A. Kinda old and ugly-lookin', but it's got a function that was phased out with the models most of the rest of us have."

"What are you blabbering about, DeLoria?" Stevie rumbled, though the inflection of his voice was a tad uneven.

"I've already signed off on that Pip-Boy during the annual Pip-Boy checkup," Mr. Mack stated warily. "There's nothing on there that's out of place."

Butch disregarded that and instructed Amata and Paul to hook up Ivy's Pip-Boy to the Overseer's terminal and projector. Although the Vault leader objected vehemently, Chief Hannon hesitated in stopping them as he watched his son get to work. Amata turned on the electronics while Paul attached the connection cord to the devices. Within minutes, the Pip-Boy's interface was displayed on the screen above the desk.

"All right. We all have the tracking function, right? See here, pull up the local map, and whaddya know, there's a clusterfuck in the Overseer's office right now," Butch quipped, gesturing to the mass of blinking indicators.

"Get on with it, Mr. DeLoria," the Overseer snapped.

"Fine, fine. What if I told you the 3000A model had an extra feature that Stanley didn't tell anyone about? What if this Pip-Boy kept track of the wearer's location, recording wherever she went, from the day she slapped it on her wrist till now?" Butch surveyed the stunned faces around him before leering at Stevie. "'Cause that's exactly what happened. Hey, just for fun, why don't we check out her locations during the years 2274-2276?"

All attention locked onto the screen as he navigated through Ivy's settings and accessed what seemed to be an archive of maps organized into years. Once he opened the one from 2274, he heard Stevie's sharp intake of breath as the label _Apartment: Mack Family – Bedroom: Stevie Mack_ popped up repeatedly, denoting hours spent inside day after day over the course of that year. The archives revealed the same thing for 2275 and most of 2276, the latter showing Ivy's extended clinic stay after her miscarriage.

"Well, I'll be damned," Edwin muttered, crossing his arms as he squinted up at the documented records.

The Overseer rotated to narrow his eyes at Stevie. "Care to explain this turn of events, Officer Mack?"

For once, Stevie didn't have a ready answer. He shifted his furious gaze to Ivy, who reciprocated with her own glare.

"Impossible. That device has clearly been tampered with," Mr. Mack growled immediately in his son's stead.

"I thought you said there's nothing out of place on this Pip-Boy," Butch jeered, zooming in on a map of Stevie's room and leaving it on the screen. "You checked it yourself and gave the OK, right?"

Mr. Mack looked ready to throttle him by this point, but Jonas cut in before he could get another word out.

"You know, I actually own an old Vault-Tec manual detailing this function of the 3000A model," the medical technician declared. "I'd be happy to bring it in to show that this evidence is legitimate."

Wally chose that moment to chime in. "That still doesn't prove anything solid," he remarked, glowering at Butch. "For all we know, Stevie could have been helping her with her homework while she was in there. It's possible that one of her motives for stirring up this issue is that he rejected her interest in him, and in her psychological trauma after those pictures, she's confused and trying to put the blame on his head."

"Yeah, Ivy's always been the quiet type," Susie added right away. "Never showed any interest in boys our age, so it would make sense that she'd already been after Stevie."

"Uh, actually, I think she's always liked Butch. They went to the formal together, if you remember," Freddie pointed out. "Quit spouting things off for the sake of hearing yourself talk, Susie."

As she flushed from her crush's reprimand, Butch's lips fell into a thin line. The idea that he'd ever liked Susie left a sour taste in his mouth. Twisting things around seemed to be a Mack trait, and he intended to put a stop to it. Permanently.

"You wanna see somethin' concrete? Wonder why the real stuff never came up in the search through Stevie's room?" Butch demanded, switching tactics. "This asshole is a smart guy. Crazy as fuck, but two steps ahead of everyone else. Only this time, he tripped over his own ego."

Ivy stared up at him, curious and hopeful.

Catching Officer Gomez's eye, Butch jerked his head toward the door. "The stuff you were lookin' for? Chems, copies, surveillance recordings? Check his personal locker over at the security station. He was ready for you guys getting a search warrant for his room. But he wasn't ready for the guy he sent to jail cleaning the place at midnight and seein' him cram that shit in there. Like I said, Chief," he continued, smirking at Paul's father, "the community service your nut job security force assigned me was the best fuckin' favor."

Stevie's posture went rigid at once; a subtle movement, but enough for the Overseer to take notice.

"Officer Gomez. Obtain a master key from Stanley Armstrong and check Officer Mack's locker at the station," the Overseer ordered. "I want this matter settled once and for all."

" _Alphonse!_ " Mr. Mack roared as Officer Gomez rushed out of the office.

Chief Hannon stepped in to restrain him while the Overseer dismissed the uproar from the Macks. Stevie scowled and sent a look of pure animosity toward Ivy, but she paid no attention as she clasped Butch's arm, starry-eyed. He nodded at her, his fingers lingering over hers before he broke contact to disconnect her Pip-Boy from the cord.

"I will review the material Officer Gomez finds this evening," the Overseer announced, reclaiming his desk as Amata and Paul shut down the terminal and projector. "Until then, this part of the trial is over. Chief Hannon, if you would escort Officer Mack to the detention center, and Mr. DeLoria," he said, giving Butch a meaningful glare, "you are free to go for the day."

Butch shot a vicious grin of victory to Stevie, who appeared positively murderous.

"Ivy," the security officer rumbled as Chief Hannon took him by the arm and led him to the exit. "This isn't over. We're not finished here."

"No," she answered from Butch's side, "but you'll be finishing it by yourself in a jail cell."

Mr. Mack sputtered his outrage as the rest of the Mack family filed out in a somber and resentful line, and Mrs. Mack sighed as she dragged her protesting husband with them.

"You're going to pay for this, Ivy," Susie said heatedly as she passed by. "You and your piece of shit delinquent boyfriend over there—"

"Give it a rest," Wally told his sister, grasping the back of her collar to yank her along. "We'll get this fixed. Don't worry."

Ivy frowned at their retreating figures until Amata stepped up and hugged her in relief. Butch stood off to the side and watched several others come forward to do the same. Edwin reached out from next to him and gave him a heavy pat on the back, nodding his approval.

"Glad to see the disaster is passing," the teacher commented while gathering Butch's files. "I'd tell you to stay out of trouble, but I know that's not going to happen. And as much as it pains me to say this, you're not a bad kid."

Butch snickered as Edwin strode toward the door. "Shucks, you're gonna make me blush, Brotch."

Dr. Ashburn trudged over to him at that moment, his typical grimace while interacting with Butch now less pronounced. "Ivy will be able to sleep well tonight for the first time in a long time thanks to you," he stated, somewhat reluctantly. "Now I almost approve of you as a match for my daughter. It appears you just may be able to take care of her when I'm gone."

Butch blanched, taking his words at face value. "Uh, no… it's not… see…"

"Ahem!" the Overseer interrupted. "If you would all take your congratulations _outside_ my office, I would greatly appreciate it."

Amata instantly ushered them out, muttering something about not pushing their luck. Once outside, both Paul and Freddie leaped on Butch in a celebratory gesture.

"Hey, glad to have you back, man!" Freddie cheered.

"Yeah, we were worried you'd blow it at the trial and get sent back to the detention center forever," Paul added.

Butch shoved both of his friends off and drawled wryly, "Gee, thanks, guys."

Amata interjected by tugging on the two Tunnel Snakes' jackets and telling Ivy they intended to help with the evidence Officer Gomez found. After they left—with a parting "Tunnel Snakes rule!" from Paul and Freddie—Jonas headed back to the clinic, and Dr. Ashburn gave Ivy a quick hug before following him.

"Don't wait up tonight, honey," he said before turning the corner. "We're probably going to pull an all-nighter with all the work we have to catch up on."

She called back an affirmation and waved as he disappeared, leaving her alone with Butch. The familiar silence descended over them, this time amidst a light atmosphere, free of tension. He gazed down at her, taken by the way her features had brightened with unbridled sanguinity, but he forced himself to look away. Despite the new positive outlook on their situation, the reminder of his condition returned to tear him down inside.

"So…" he started, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

She spared him from scrambling for a topic of conversation. "Walk me back to my place?"

He nodded and led the way down the stairs without skipping a beat. As they walked side by side through the corridors, he snuck glances at her from the corner of his eye. She didn't speak, but her demeanor was calm and relaxed, and she kept her sight trained ahead as if deep in thought. He allowed himself an inward smile, pleased that the perpetual stress had disappeared from her face. He'd be glad when they could put all this behind them and go on with their lives.

It was just too bad the two of them couldn't do so together.

They arrived in front of her apartment all too soon. Digging the toe of his boot into the floor, he inclined his head.

"All right, so… I'll see ya around."

Ivy seized the sleeve of his jacket when he turned to go. "Would you come inside? I just want to talk to you for a few minutes."

Butch exhaled wearily, but agreed. _Girls sure like to talk a whole lot when there ain't nothin' else to be said._

He stepped inside at her beckoning and was promptly greeted by a pleasant clean scent. This marked the first instance he'd ever set foot in her apartment, and the tidiness made him even more ashamed that she'd had to witness the landfill known as his residence on numerous occasions. She motioned for him to accompany her as she walked toward her bedroom, slipping off her jacket and draping it on her desk chair. He cautiously ventured in with her, glancing around as if her father had booby trapped the place to take out any other males daring to enter.

As the door closed, his line of sight fell on the BB gun on her desk, and he felt a fleeting moment of nostalgia as he studied the wear and tear on the object that had brought them together through the tumultuous years of their adolescence.

"First off, thank you for everything you did back there," Ivy began, coming to stand in front of him. "I had my doubts, but what you presented was amazing."

He tried to shrug it off, but his ego swelled at the praise. "The Butch-man's at the top of his game. Glad I paid attention when I was workin' with Stanley, and it was just crazy good luck that I happened to be there when Stevie thought he'd slip another one past us."

Ivy smiled briefly before it faded into a serious expression. "So now that this whole thing with him is getting taken care of, I was wondering how you were doing after I dropped that bomb on you last week about Wilson's."

Butch's shoulders stiffened as he stared off to the side. "Just dealin', y'know? Like I said before, I'll leave you alone after all this is sorted out, so—"

"That part. _Why?_ " she demanded, taking a step forward.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. _So she's gonna make this hard._ "C'mon, Ivy. Let's get real here. You and me, and whatever this is between us, we don't got a future with me havin' a liver disease. Best for you to just cut ties with me so I can sink on my own."

"That makes absolutely no sense," she retorted. "I haven't given up on finding a treatment, and neither has my dad. You're going to be okay—"

"No, I'm _not_ and don't even give me that false hope bullshit," Butch snapped, his chest filling with both misery and anger. "I saw what Wilson's did to my parents, and I ain't gonna ruin the memories we made this year."

She reached out to clutch his jaw, forcing him to look at her. "So you're giving up just like that? When I made the decision to tell you about it, I thought you'd want to fight it head on. Backing off and throwing in the towel before the first round has even started is so unlike you." She brought her other hand up to hold his cheek in place when he tried to jerk his chin from her grasp. "Hey. We're not your parents. You're not your dad."

He froze. Bulls-eye.

It was a fear he hadn't wanted to acknowledge, an ever-present dread gnawing from the darkest corner of his subconscious: becoming Hank. So far, he'd been treading that exact road, whether he meant to or not, from circumstances both in and out of his control. Every comparison to his father, every whisper and rumor that traveled across the Vault, drove another nail into that fear. And Ivy had seen right through him.

But then, ever since they were kids, she had been the only one to see him for who he really was.

He removed her hands, unwilling to admit his insecurities in front of her. "Whatever. Point is… there ain't no point. No point tryin' to fix me, no point getting together, no point in this conversation."

"I disagree. If you'd let me in to help you, we could deal with this together. Your stubbornness is what's holding you back, Butch, and this isn't something you should shut me out over. Why can't you be honest with yourself for once?"

"You know, you're actin' like I have deep feelings for you or somethin' just 'cause we had some good moments," he lashed out in frustration. "Get over yourself, Ivy. I've already paid for and corrected everything I've done wrong. I don't owe you nothin' else, I don't need your help, and if you want the stone cold truth, I sure as hell don't care about you _that_ way."

Of course, that truth was in fact a lie; one she didn't stand for.

Ivy exhibited her displeasure through unexpected aggression. Curling a fist into the rough material of his jumpsuit, she shoved him against the wall with one arm and held him in place with a fiery glare. He was initially too taken aback to resist the action, but his ire rose along with another emotion he couldn't quite identify.

She leaned forward so that her face hovered mere inches from his, and in a low, ominous tone, she murmured, "Say that again."

Butch felt her warm breath on his lips, her sharp elbow digging into his ribcage, the intensity of her eyes. Having fully regained her health, she possessed enough strength to keep him from moving, using her small body to press his against the hard surface. He recalled a very similar position years ago, also brimming with hostility, where he had pinned her outside the atrium. And just like last time, he caught the floral fragrance of her hair, which only served to increase his awareness of her close proximity.

A peculiar ferocity sparked in the space between them, stemming from every bout of irritation, acrimony, and untold emotion they carried within. Whether for everything else or for each other, it burned in their gazes, altered the atmosphere in the room. They both felt the change, the widening of a path they'd been fated to cross. Something built, gained momentum, caught them in the rising tide. Maddening. Exhilarating.

It was… arousing.

He seized her by the waist and yanked her harder against him, kissing her fervently, almost forcefully, with all the desire he'd suppressed for the past three months. A small sound issued from the back of her throat, but soon her fingers roamed up to thread through his hair. He growled into her mouth when she shifted against his groin, and he pried her off briefly so he could grab the zipper of her jumpsuit and rip it all the way down to her stomach, almost tearing the thing right off the fabric.

Once the top half of the suit slid down and gathered at her hips, she threw herself back at him, matching his force, his driving need. She kissed him again as his arms snaked around her, his fingers searching for the clasp to her white bra. Her tongue flicked out, slid along his bottom lip, and he groaned as he let her in, remembering the familiar way she tasted. Her hands cupped his jaw, pulling him closer.

The bedroom was aflame with the heat of their passion, the hunger for each other a physical ache. They needed it hard, hot, fast, now.

His mind grew blank as instinct took over. Succeeding in unhooking the undergarment, he dug his blunt nails into the skin of her spine, dragging his mouth to her neck and sucking on the soft flesh in a sensual love bite as he backed her toward the bed. He was sporting a raging hard-on by this time, but he paused and drew back to peer at her flushed face once her legs hit the edge of the mattress.

Vocal timbre resonating with huskiness, he asked, "This what you've been wanting, girl?"

She responded by brushing his temple with her knuckles. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

A request bordering on an order.

He liked that.

His jacket dropped to the floor, and he held her gaze as he slowly unzipped his own jumpsuit, noting the way her lips parted when his muscled chest came into view. She lifted tentative fingers that traveled over the planes of his stomach and the contours of his shoulders before slipping the sleeves of the suit down over his toned arms. Her touch left trails of fire over his torso, riling him up to the point where he lost patience. Snarling an oath, he pushed her onto the bed.

She kicked off her boots and watched him, features set in a sultry look. He practically threw off the rest of his clothing and then pounced on her, eliciting a sweet laugh as the mattress creaked beneath them. He braced his weight on his elbows as she grasped the serpent pendant that swung from his neck. They hesitated again while she studied it, her expression growing tender at its presence.

Then, gently, she used the chain to tug him toward her, capturing his mouth in a chaste kiss. He deepened it insistently, loving the feel of her, wanting more of her, desperate to have as much as she would allow. He stifled every qualm, every concern, and swore to fill her, body and soul, with carnal rapture.

Because tonight, she was his.

Butch broke their contact to straighten and strip off the remainder of her garments. Splayed out with her flaming hair in a halo around her head, she was the epitome of everything he desired. His groin throbbed at the sight of her lying nude before him. Ivy… his enemy, rival, companion, friend…

Lover.

He crawled back over her, his breathing going ragged when she spread her legs for him. His body slid against hers, their heated skin melding together as her fingertips roved over the muscles of his back. With their faces a hairsbreadth apart, he slipped a hand between her thighs, swallowing when she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulder blades. She was wet and ready, the slickness covering the finger that probed inside. He withdrew and gripped his pulsating cock, positioning himself at her entrance.

"Brace yourself, baby," he rasped, using his free hand to stroke her bangs from her forehead.

When her hips rose, that was all the answer he needed. He couldn't wait any longer.

She gasped when he pushed into her, a ringing noise of gratification, and he groaned at the same time as her tight warmth enveloped him. He stayed still for a few moments, buried deep inside her, reveling in the sensation of them joined as one. Then, slowly, he began moving in a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and plunging back in. A soft sound escaped her lips with each thrust, and his hands fisted in the sheets on either side of her head, the image of her flushed and blissful expression seared across his vision. He could already feel the winding tension in his lower abdomen.

God, he'd wanted her.

Ivy arched into him, shoving her breasts against his chest, the serpent pendant sandwiched between the racing of their hearts. His breath hitched when her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper, urging him to go faster. He obliged wholeheartedly, shortening his strokes and picking up speed, driving into her with enough force to rock the bed.

Her nails raked into his back, the momentary flash of pain sending his arousal flying off the charts and jumbling his thoughts. This side of her, wanton and unabashed in the throes of her pleasure, drove him utterly mad. His body scrabbled for release, grabbing hold of the pressure in his groin and demanding to let it overtake him. She was hot and wet and tightening around him, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

Reaching down between them, he ran the pads of his fingers over the nub of her sex. She started, her moans fading into sharp, desperate breaths as he teased it in a circular motion, never breaking the constant pace of his thrusts. They made love in earnest, their hips coming together hard and fast, the long-binding connection finally manifesting in this intimate act.

He whispered her name as he memorized the scent of her, the feel of her. Even if he couldn't keep her and this was a one-time thing, it felt right, as if everything had happened to lead to this moment. She stared up at him with a look he'd never seen before, fierce and ardent, and deep down he knew exactly what was written in those hazel eyes.

She was in love with him.

Her arms came up to hold him close, and suddenly she cried out, stilling and then convulsing around him. The sensation of her surging upwards, constricting, squeezing, drove him over the edge. Losing all restraint, he buried himself to the hilt and came harder than he could ever remember, erupting in long jets of fulfillment as he groaned into her shoulder. He rode out the aftershocks and then collapsed beside her, both panting in the heated room.

His mind spun in a haze, stunned but contented. They said nothing as they lay together, catching their breath and watching the metal ceiling. After a few minutes, she turned to him and pressed her lips to his, tracing her thumb along his jawline affectionately. But when she pulled away, her smile was understanding and a little sad. Without a word, she drew the blanket over herself and settled on her side, facing the wall with her back to him as she laid her head on the pillow. He blinked in confusion for a while until he realized.

She was giving him permission to walk away.

From the moment he had kissed her, that was what he'd intended. All reason in his head told him to get up, get dressed, and leave. Nothing had changed; he was still sick and he still didn't want her involved when things took a turn for the worse. She had a life to live, one that was finally beginning to look up, and she didn't need him and the burden of his disease tainting it.

And yet…

He reached out to caress the waves of her hair. Then, after leaning behind him to flick off the light, he joined her under the blanket and draped an arm around her waist, holding her against him.

Even if it was only an illusion, he wanted this kind of happiness. Just for now. Just tonight.

Just this once.


	12. Chapter 12

**(August 2277)**

**_Part 3_ **

Butch stirred at the distant sound of a shrill voice, its steadily increasing pitch grating on his nerves as he tried to bury his head under the pillow.

"Ivy! You've got to wake— _oh my God_!" someone yelped from behind him when the lights came on. "Jesus! Both of you get up and put some clothes on! And make it fast!"

 _Please let this be a dream,_ Butch griped when Ivy rolled out from under his arm.

"Amata?" she asked sleepily.

The other girl had already darted out of the room. "Hurry! Your dad is gone and my father is sending half the security force after you!"

"What?" Ivy exclaimed, snapping awake as she scrambled over Butch and hopped off the bed. "What do you mean my dad is gone?"

_Goddammit._

"He's left the Vault!" Amata called from outside the door. "I don't know why, especially when we were so close to resolving the whole Stevie Mack situation. And now my father… he's kind of gone crazy!"

Growling out a curse, Butch flung off the blanket and joined Ivy in dressing. "Your old man losin' his shit ain't news, princess," he hollered, pulling on his boxers. _Great, just what we fuckin' need right now._

"Well, this time it's really bad. He released Stevie and had him bring in Jonas for questioning, but…" Amata paused to draw in a shuddering breath. "He… oh God. Jonas is dead, Ivy. I had to watch Stevie gun him down."

Butch stopped in the middle of zipping up his jumpsuit as Ivy's entire body went rigid. He witnessed the shock cross her face, followed by a series of emotions that ended with caged fury. Her expression hardened as she laced her boots and threw on her jacket, her entire demeanor resonating with solid resolve. He hurried to catch up, half-listening to Amata's verbal stream of additional information while he stepped into his own boots. If Stevie had reached the point where he was outright killing people with the Overseer's permission, Butch would need to stick to Ivy's side and ensure her safety.

_So much for tryin' to stay away from her. Didn't know I was setting an impossible goal._

He retrieved his jacket from the floor just as Ivy called Amata back in and began grabbing several things from her desk. Two agitated voices argued outside before the other girl appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Paul, who was out of breath.

"Guys," he wheezed, bending over to brace his palms on his knees as he gasped for air. "It's nuts out there. I'm gonna try to head off my dad and keep him and some of the officers preoccupied, Ivy. And Butch," he remarked in surprise when he noticed his friend, "what're you doing here? I saw a bunch of radroaches head into your apartment when I ran by. Like, a lot. Your mom's not there, is she?"

A wave of cold terror washed over Butch at the mention of the giant insects, and he stood rooted in place as he gaped back at Paul. His mother was defenseless, more so if she was drunk again—which was most definitely. Although the two of them had been at odds, she was the only family he had, and he couldn't stand by doing nothing. He glanced at Ivy, who had paused to watch him. If he pulled himself together, he could take out the radroaches in a few minutes and regroup with her before she ran into Stevie. He needed to overcome his phobia, now more than ever.

Seeing the baseball bat she held in her hand, he nodded toward the other weapon on her desk. "I need to deal with this real quick, Ivy, but I'll meet up with ya in a bit. Give me the BB gun. I'm gonna go save my mom."

She tossed it to him along with the BB rounds without missing a beat. Catching the items in unsteady hands, he exchanged a silent look of support with her and stuffed the rounds into his jacket pocket. She took a step toward him and appeared to want to say something, but he pivoted on his heel and strode away, burying all thoughts of their night together. If anything went wrong for either of them in the next hour, he couldn't afford to let emotion overwhelm him.

Amata rushed past him to address Ivy, and as he exited the apartment, he spotted Officer Kendall down the right side of the hall battling a number of radroaches. He froze at the sight and nearly jumped out of his skin when Paul placed a hand on his arm.

"Hey, Butch. I know about you and Ivy, and it's cool," Paul told him. "Even though you two used to hate each other. And even though you totally knew I liked her."

Butch scowled and jerked his arm away. _Seriously, who_ doesn't _know about me and Ivy by this point?_ "Dude, now ain't the time—"

"Just wanted to make sure the air was clear in case we don't make it out of this. Wally might have turned his back on us, but Freddie and me, we're your brothers till the end, man."

Butch rolled his eyes even as his fellow Tunnel Snake's words warmed him. "Yeah, okay. Look, I know, _Captain Cosmos_ ," he replied, referring to the comic book that had forged their friendship all those years ago. "But hold the sentimental stuff for later. We got things to do."

"Sure thing, boss. And hey," Paul said, pumping both fists in the air, "Tunnel Snakes rule!"

Butch echoed the declaration and wished him luck before they headed in opposite directions.

The flashing Vault alarms rang throughout the dimmed corridors, and his legs took on the consistency of jelly during his trek down to his own residence. A sudden bout of dizziness swept through him, and he doubted that it stemmed from Wilson's this time. He gritted his teeth and broke into a jog, tightening his grip around the stock and barrel of the BB gun.

Several groups of people ran by in confusion, all yelling at each other and asking what was happening. This Vault-wide emergency seemed to be a first, judging by the mass pandemonium. And fortunately, with all the chaos in the residential area, no one noticed him wielding the weapon as he dashed for his apartment.

Ellen's screaming hit his ears the instant he barged through the front door. He waded across the messy living room and blanched when he heard the hissing noises of the mutated insects. Apprehension crawled up his spine and lodged in the base of his skull, dispelling his earlier bravado. Halting to take a few deep breaths, he double checked the loading door of the BB gun and steeled himself.

_I can do this. I can so do this. They're just roaches. Bugs, is all they are. Really, really huge-ass bugs with sharp antennae and scratchy feet… and can fly up and rip my face off in two seconds flat. Urgh, God._

Sweat rolled down his forehead as he gathered all his willpower and stomped into Ellen's bedroom before he lost his nerve. The sight of the three radroaches curdled his stomach at once, and he fought the nausea that flared up in his gut. His limbs quivered as he swallowed, imagining this was how Ivy felt at the onset of every panic attack. He was two seconds away from panicking himself. But when his vision landed on his mother crouched and wailing on the floor, he raised the BB gun and aimed, his heart thundering in his chest.

The first five BBs missed, and he swore harshly as he wiped the perspiration from his brow and tried to still the trembling in his hands. _Come on, get it together, damn it,_ he fumed at himself. _You can't afford to be a fucking pansy ass right now._

Ellen's jumpsuit sleeves had torn, and drops of blood ran down her arms from the radroaches' attacks. She needed him, and here he was, quaking in his boots and barely able to shoot straight. It was enough to make him despise himself. Six years shooting with this weapon, and after one hiatus, he'd forgotten everything he'd learned?

Resuming his stance, he tried again. _Pop._ Just nicked the radroach on the left. _Pop._ Hit the bedframe. _Pop._ Wedged into the mattress. _Pop._ Ricocheted off the wall. _Pop._ Whizzed right between one radroach's antennae.

Unbelievable.

A noise of frustration ripped from his throat as he swiveled around and almost chucked the BB gun across the room. His blood pressure elevated as his mother's shrieking grew louder, and he felt hot tears of self-loathing sting the corners of his eyes. Useless. He was going to fail. He couldn't do this after all.

"Line your sights, squeeze the trigger."

The steady and familiar words that drifted from his right quelled the panic that had risen inside. A heaven-sent reminder. A balm to his beleaguered mind. He didn't need to see the speaker to recognize her display of faith on his behalf.

He stilled and exhaled, summoning every ounce of concentration he had left to shut out all other distractions. The BB gun lifted one more time, and the muscle memory gradually returned as he stabilized his aim. With renewed focus, he targeted one radroach and fired. The BB struck and cracked its shell. Four more shots followed, and as soon as the creature redirected its attention to him, the fifth lodged squarely into its head, killing it.

_Finally. Game on._

He made short work of the other two, landing every single one of his shots as years of target practice came rushing back. Once the radroaches lay dead on the carpet, Ellen stumbled away and collapsed in a sofa chair, catching her breath as she gazed at her son in gratitude. He lowered his weapon and glanced toward the doorway.

Ivy stood there with her baseball bat over her shoulder. "I figured you might need some backup." Shifting her eyes to his mother, she asked, "Are you all right, Mrs. DeLoria?"

"Jus' peachy," Ellen slurred, already in the process of shaking off the attack by taking a swig of a beer bottle that materialized from out of nowhere. "My Butchie is a good boy even though he's… not. I'm sure he didn't mean to put you through those pictures, Ivy."

Butch bristled before rolling his eyes. _Shoulda known she'd still talk smack about me_. "For the last fuckin' time, I didn't—you know what, I'll deal with you later. Get those scratches patched up, Mom. And stay put," he added as he trudged away from her.

Ivy declined the BB gun when he tried to return it, instead jerking her head toward the exit. "Coming with me?"

"Right beside you."

They trekked on high alert through the emptied halls, the alarms still blaring across all corridors. Ivy gave him the rundown of Amata's instructions as they headed toward the admin floor, but he tuned her out when they passed the destroyed cafeteria. His step faltered as he glimpsed the radroaches and the corpse of Agnes Taylor on the floor inside.

"Holy shit," he murmured, shuddering. He'd been through a lot in the past year, but he was still ill-prepared for the very real sight of a dead human.

And to his astonishment, Ivy strode in boldly to crush the radroaches with several swings of her bat. After checking to confirm that the old lady was indeed deceased, she rose and walked out with a fixed grave expression. Butch hurried after her, a bit unsettled by her brusque demeanor. He noticed the morbid air surrounding her as she resumed relaying Amata's instructions, and he hadn't missed the 10mm pistol tucked into her belt.

What he did miss was the intended outcome of the plan until she mentioned the Wasteland.

He stopped dead in his tracks right before they reached the stairs leading to the upper level. "What? You're leavin' the Vault?"

She turned to fix him with an impatient look. "Butch, I need you to hear me out once we get to the Vault entrance, but until then, we have to keep moving."

"No, hold up," he snapped, reaching out to grab her arm. "You were the one who said you were workin' on a cure for me, the one who didn't want me to stay away, the one who wanted to be with me last night. And now you're sayin' you're gonna _leave_?"

"My dad is gone and the Overseer has practically put a bounty on my head. I don't have a choice. And we don't have time to discuss this. Come on," Ivy told him, pulling away from his grasp.

He would have protested further, but a figure clad in a security uniform had appeared and proceeded to descend the stairs. Butch repositioned himself into his aiming stance while Ivy drew the pistol in one smooth movement.

"Hold on! I just want to talk to you for a minute!" Officer Gomez cried when he found himself faced with the business end of two guns. "Ivy, you're lucky it was me who found you. The others won't be so forgiving."

"I know. I had to put down Officer Kendall earlier," Ivy stated grimly.

Butch gawked at her as the words sunk in. "You what?"

She ignored him as she addressed Officer Gomez, and Butch reminded himself that it was a free-for-all during a crisis like this. In fact, Ivy appeared to be doing a whole lot better than he was at handling it. He would have expected her to feel more shaken, to exhibit more of a mortified reaction, but her determination to blaze a trail right out of the Vault seemed to override all other emotional encumbrance… including her feelings for him.

"You have to get out of here. The Overseer's orders are ruthless, and if they catch you…" Officer Gomez trailed off, shaking his head. Then, noticing her companion, he frowned as he said sternly, "Butch, you'd best keep out of Ivy's way. You've already gotten Freddie involved in enough trouble, and I don't want you hindering Ivy at such a crucial time—"

"Goddamn, talk about layin' on the hate today," Butch snarled, brandishing the BB gun. "I'm tryin' to keep her safe from Stevie, like I've _been_ doin' all year. You're the one who needs to move your ass out of our way."

Ivy bid a hasty farewell to Officer Gomez as she tugged on Butch's jacket sleeve and urged him up the stairs after her. He was still peeved when they reached the top, but when he spotted the Mister Handy robot setting several radroaches aflame up ahead, he forced himself to concentrate on the situation at hand. The absence of all other security personnel led him to infer that Paul had successfully stalled them, but Butch kept a sharp eye out regardless as they approached the clinic.

"Ah, young sir and madam, how very good to see you," Andy greeted in a cheery tone from atop a pile of radroach carcasses.

"Yeah…" Butch replied uncertainly as Ivy led them into her father's office.

Stanley nearly collided with her when he stepped out from around the doorway. "Ivy! You're the one everybody's looking for, right?"

Butch stiffened, but she carried on without slowing down, swiping a bobblehead from her father's desk while drilling Stanley with questions on what had happened here. He claimed no clue aside from her father's departure, and he wisely iterated that he wouldn't be interfering with her business. She moved with swift efficiency around the office, spending a minute trying to pick the lock to a wall safe hidden behind a picture frame. As she muttered under her breath with each broken bobby pin, Butch peered sideways at Stanley, who had preoccupied himself with maintenance work on Andy.

The continuous alarms instilled a sense of urgency, and Butch called for Ivy to hurry when he heard frantic voices in the distance. She abandoned the safe and stuffed a few more things into her pockets before grabbing her bat and telling Stanley good bye. Butch stayed close on her heels as they ventured back out into the corridor and took a left toward the atrium. As they progressed without speaking, he tried to wrap his head around the day's turn of events and Ivy's impending escape.

Everything had happened so fast, and even as he kept his mouth shut and trailed after her, there were a hundred things he wanted to bring out into the open. Yet he stifled them, knowing now wasn't the appropriate time, and it was possible there would never _be_ an appropriate time. So he pressed on behind her, feeling somewhat inadequate as he deliberated her surprising combative proficiency. Whatever had scarred over within her throughout the year had toughened into this austere manner that left him on edge.

Ivy halted when gunshots reverberated from inside the atrium. A shrill cry followed by a thud twisted his insides, but he readied himself to plow ahead and use himself as a shield for Ivy if need be. However, her arm came up to stop him.

"We'll do this together," she declared, securing the bat onto her back with a strap as she switched to the pistol.

He disliked the idea of her charging into the line of fire, but refrained from arguing when two sets of footsteps advanced toward them. As soon as the pair of security officers came into view, she fired before they could even draw their weapons. Butch's grip on the BB gun slipped when they dropped, their visors cracked and smeared with blood.

"Wha—what happened to 'together'? And damn, they never even had a prayer," he exclaimed, identifying them as O'Brian and Richards.

"Neither did that woman they shot. And it looks like they killed a man, too," Ivy returned as she stepped over the officers' corpses and pointed to the sealed Vault entrance. "Right now, almost everyone on the security force is an enemy. I'm sorry, but I can't take any chances. Let's go."

He didn't know if it was the news of Jonas's death that finally made her snap, but she was changing right before his eyes. And there was little he could do about it besides continue on and wonder if she'd always possessed the capacity to kill in cold blood.

This route to the Overseer's office turned out to be the long way, and they hurried along the top level of the atrium and into the systems room, where even more radroaches leaped at them from behind several consoles. His residual fear didn't inhibit his aim this time, and he took each of them out while Ivy checked the map on her Pip-Boy. Once they entered the admin floor, they immediately crouched down after spotting a trio of people through the window of the security station.

"Shit… they caught Amata," Ivy whispered.

Butch spotted the other girl sitting in a chair in front of the Overseer and an overbearing security officer, who was none other than Stevie.

Ivy crept closer, pistol held out in front of her. He followed her lead and strained to listen to the muffled conversation inside. The atmosphere was tense, fragile, and he tried to persuade Ivy to back away and head to the Overseer's office, but relented when she held a hand up to silence him. He exhaled irritably and peered through the glass again, his jaw dropping when he witnessed Stevie lose his patience and backhand Amata across the face.

In an instant, Ivy sprang up to slam her fist on the door switch before barreling inside. The Overseer had shoved Stevie away while roaring at him, and neither noticed Ivy at first until she had the barrel of her pistol pointed at Stevie's head. Butch's heart sank as he entered the station after her, the prompt descent of stillness acting as another weight on his abdomen. Amata held her cheek and gazed at Ivy as the men beside her froze to take in the unexpected intrusion.

"Hey, easy there," Stevie said warily, eyeing the gun aimed straight at him. "Don't do something you're going to regret, Ivy."

"Shut up," she snarled as her voice shook with rage. "I have a long list of regrets, but killing you definitely won't be one of them."

"Yeah? And how's that going to look after all the trouble you went through to prove that bastard's 'innocence' with that trial yesterday?" Stevie demanded, sparing Butch a fierce glower.

"It's going to look like she doesn't give a fuck since this asshole let you go, anyway," Butch shot back, jabbing an accusing finger at the Overseer. "Hey old man, you sure that was a good move? Was his bitch-slapping your daughter proof enough that he's an insane motherfucker?"

The Overseer composed himself and lifted his chin in persistent arrogance. "I will have Officer Mack sent to the detention center for his misconduct here, but the most pressing issue at the moment is Ms. Ashburn."

While Ivy's fingers clenched tighter around the pistol, Stevie whirled on the Overseer.

"What did you say?" he rumbled with unadulterated menace.

"You heard me," the Overseer barked. "You dared to strike my daughter, which by itself is a highly punishable act. After this ordeal with the Ashburns is remedied, I'll have you know that you will spend years serving in the detention center. Possibly decades once I launch a thorough investigation of your background and crimes against a minor—"

An earsplitting _bang_ pierced the air, and the Overseer collapsed on the spot, blood seeping from the bullet wound in his forehead.

Amata's anguished scream cut through the space as Stevie lowered the pistol he'd drawn in a flash. Butch had enough time to watch Ivy gasp before a heavy blow to his temple knocked him sideways. He staggered back, his eyes meeting Wally's cold ones as the former Tunnel Snake swung at him again. The station erupted with noise, and Butch used the BB gun to block the fist flying at his face. Something darted past them in the corner of his vision, but he momentarily dismissed it to focus on his opponent.

Behind him, he heard Amata's continued wailing and Ivy's enraged yells, and he grew more furious by the second as Wally came at him, sidestepping his jab with the butt of the BB gun to land a right hook to his ribs. Butch gritted his teeth and launched himself at Wally, striking down with his elbow to hit the other in the clavicle.

"What the fuck are you doin' here, you goddamn traitor?" Butch thundered as he tried using the firearm as a bludgeon.

Wally caught it and pried it out of his hands to fling it away. "I've had enough of you and Ivy bringing trouble for Stevie."

"You're fuckin' delusional! The truth has been starin' ya right in the face and you're still siding with your psycho ass brother?" Butch demanded incredulously as he recognized and dodged a combo of cross punches.

"The truth is something you never trusted me with, so of course I'd choose my family over you," Wally snapped, parrying another jab. "And now with Ivy and her dad turning the Vault upside down, who looks guilty here?"

"Uh, your brother just _murdered_ the fuckin' Overseer, so I ain't gonna bother answering that."

Wally made the mistake of hesitating to glance over at Amata's morose form holding her father, and Butch took the opportunity to rear back and slug him full force in the nose. With a grunt, Wally went down and clamped his hands over the gush of blood pouring down over his mouth and chin. Butch panted from the exertion, and his breath caught when he glimpsed the showdown to his right.

Ivy still had her pistol pointed at Stevie, but in front of him was Susie's terrified figure.

"Get out of the way, Susie," Ivy ordered.

"You're gonna have to shoot me down first if you want to kill my brother," the other girl cried.

A brief silence followed. Something switched in Ivy's eyes. "If you want to be collateral damage that badly, then I'll oblige."

_The hell?!_

Butch panicked and jumped in the way when her finger started to press the trigger. "Ivy!" he exclaimed. "Seriously?!"

He could understand her gunning down the security personnel, but Susie?

Her features darkened with anger at his interference. "This is a loose end I can't leave untied, Butch."

"Yeah, I know, but Jesus… you're gonna mow a path through helpless people to get to him?"

Before she could issue a retort, a shout outside interrupted them.

Freddie appeared in the doorway of the station, almost tripping over Wally on the floor. "Hey! There you are, Ivy! You gotta get the hell out _now_. All of security is heading this way!"

Spitting out a colorful phrase Butch had never heard from her before, she glared once more at the Macks and withdrew the pistol as she turned to move out.

Stevie shoved his sister away from him and marched after her. "Ivy! You're not fucking going anywhere. This isn't over. You and I aren't over. We—"

A gunshot cut him off.

He growled a stream of profanity through gritted teeth as he clutched his right arm. Ivy would have fired again, but the sound of running footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and Freddie grabbed her jacket sleeve to yank her toward the Overseer's office. She swore and sprinted out, and Butch darted after her, deciding to deal with the aftermath later. His priority at this time was her escape.

"Freddie, try to keep security back while I help her outta here," Butch called over his shoulder as he raced down the hall.

Once he crossed the threshold into the office, he found Ivy standing over Jonas's body, her fingers curled in her hair. Butch took her by the elbow as she sniffled several times, dragging her to the Overseer's terminal and urging her to keep going. Swiping a palm over the dampness on her face, she nodded and set to work on hacking the systems. Upon successful entry of the password, she stepped back with him as the floor slid open to reveal a hidden passageway.

They dashed inside together, using the faint surface lights to guide their way. The cold and damp interior chilled their skin as they proceeded through the linear path, which opened into what appeared to be an underground escape route. Butch had no chance to think, no chance to reflect, but when he stood next to her as she activated the console that opened the Vault door, he paused to consider the finality of the situation.

The massive metal construct creaked and groaned as it rolled aside, revealing an outer door that streamed in bright sunlight through its shutters. He watched it in awe, and as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, incensed cries rang from the direction of the office. Ivy grasped his wrist and jogged with him toward the entrance, both hesitance and eagerness evident in her gait. Once they reached the border separating the Vault from the Wasteland, she released her hold and rotated back to him, having gone from livid to desperate.

"Come with me," she pleaded, backing closer to the sunlight as she held out her hand. "After we find my dad, we'll develop a treatment for Wilson's out there. The whole world will be at our disposal."

So this was what she'd had in mind. Butch stepped forward, the offer the most tempting he'd ever had. A life with her by his side, and one where he was free of the inherited liver disease, was more than he could have ever asked for. But…

It wasn't the right time.

In order to keep protecting her, he had to stay. The Macks would retaliate. Stevie would want to go after her. Butch needed to be here and ensure that they failed in all their malicious vendettas.

And if it cost him his own place beside her, so be it.

He reached up and removed the serpent pendant from around his neck, the motion more difficult than he'd thought possible. His fingertips grazed the body, the spines, the illegible writing on the side that he'd never been able to read. He memorized its shape, its weight, its colors through touch. And then, with tightness growing in his chest, he placed it in her open palm.

"That shit you pulled back there," he started hoarsely, praying she accepted his deceitful words. "Gunning people down, willing to shoot Susie. I don't know you anymore."

His statements stunned her, struck her from left field, he could tell. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He swallowed before continuing.

"Wanting me to go with you… that's askin' too much. We didn't have a future here, and we sure as shit don't have a future out in the Wasteland."

A raw ache rose to his throat when he witnessed the distress on her face.

"I want you to have the pendant back for good luck out there," he went on, trying to mask the effort it took to say these things. "But I ain't goin' with you, Ivy."

She had to buy into it, or else she'd keep begging him to go with her until security caught up and apprehended them. This was the only way he could think of to force her to leave him behind. Shattering the stitched-up heart that already carried the burden of so many tears.

It worked.

Her eyes glistened with a flood of devastation, but she nodded shortly. Gripping the pendant in her hand, she whirled around and fled without him.


	13. Chapter 13

**(October 2277)**

**_Part 1_ **

_"This is the Overseer. Let it be known that Vault 101 has established a zero tolerance policy for acts of mutiny, insubordination, and all other behaviors that have the potential to compromise the safety of this Vault. As it stands, I hereby declare a final warning for Amata Almodovar and her faction of rebels and deserters, effective immediately. Further public threats of revolt from any of these individuals will result in arrest and detainment."_

Butch puffed on his cigarette as the intercom cut off, and he glanced across the dim classroom to their leader standing beside the old chalkboard. Amata's worried frown glowed in the light of the projector, but she resumed the tactical discussion of their next move without acknowledging the announcement. He had to give her props for maintaining a clear head in light of the recent string of crises. Despite their well-executed efforts to take over this level of the Vault and utilize the space as their base of operations, the revamped security structure under the new Overseer posed a substantial threat to their mission.

He blinked hard when a wave of lethargy hit him from out of nowhere. The legs of the nearby chair scraped over the floor as he gripped it for support, and Freddie hurried to his side to help steady him. Butch took the cigarette out of his mouth and tried to brush his friend off, but the other Tunnel Snake refused to budge.

"Dude, you sure you're gonna be all right?" Freddie whispered so as not to interrupt Amata. "You've been having these spells more often lately."

"I'm fine," Butch insisted. "Quit fussin' over me like a mother turkey."

"I think you mean 'mother hen,'" Freddie quipped dryly. "But can you blame me? After what happened to Paul…"

Butch's jaw clenched. He shoved his friend away none too gently, the noise drawing several glares from the front of the classroom. He glared back at the other "rebels" before lowering his eyes to the desk he was leaning over. A dull pain throbbed in his chest when he realized it was Paul's old desk, the one Butch had sat behind during the first time they'd met as kids. The desk next to it had been Wally's, whom he'd neither spoken to nor seen since the incident at the security station. And the desk at the front of the row had been Ivy's.

Although a classroom was supposed to bring about fond memories of one's childhood, this place evoked nothing but heartache and gloom for him.

He rotated his neck and shoulders, willing the fatigue to pass as Officer Gomez strode in.

"Dad," Freddie greeted, still keeping his voice low, "any luck with negotiations?"

Herman Gomez, one of the few adults who had sided with Amata, yanked off his security helmet and pitched it into the rear wall, the resounding impact startling most of the occupants in the room.

"None. Allen Mack is a tyrant who should never have been granted the position of Overseer," he ranted. "And given how much influence the Mack family has, I'm willing to bet Chief Hannon's death wasn't an accident when we nominated him to take charge of the Vault. It wasn't enough that his son died, and now the entire chain of command out there is corrupt because of the people who have been placed in power."

Butch shook his head to himself and returned the cigarette to his lips as Amata put her briefing on hold and approached them.

"That's a shame to hear," she remarked grimly. "But I'm glad we have you with us, Officer Gomez."

He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Well, I certainly wasn't going to stick around as a member of the new security force," he stated in a sour tone. "Because there's no way in hell I'm answering to Security Chief Stevie Mack."

Butch scowled at the title and practically spat out a puff of smoke as he snarled, "Total bullshit that he was acquitted of all charges and even got assigned as the new fucking head of security."

"Well, his father is the Overseer now, so what did you expect?" Amata asked, though her features also twisted with disgust.

"Goddamn Mack family is all kinds of fucked up," Butch fumed before noticing Susie's affronted look from across the floor. "Uh, no offense."

The rest of the group migrated over to join them, forming a circle beneath the single functioning light. Even when administration had cut most of the power on this level, their faction members had remained undeterred. However, the Overseer's most recent broadcast brought a new degree of anxiety over them, and Butch could only hope none of them were harboring second thoughts. Many of the people here were his peers, kids on the verge of adulthood, playing war with the rest of the Vault for the sake of opening it to the outside world.

And while Butch had little personal interest in this goal, the conflict to achieve it benefitted his own agenda in a major way.

Another spell of weariness swept over him when Officer Gomez went on to describe his futile meeting with the Overseer. Stepping away from the others and muttering to excuse himself, Butch made for the exit and ignored Freddie's concerned inquiry. Everyone was aware of his affliction of Wilson's by this point, and the constant nagging about his condition was getting old. He emerged into the darkened corridor, guiding himself along the cold wall with one hand as he fought through the disorientation. The faint luminescence from the clinic beckoned to him, and he trudged over until he crossed the threshold, catching a whiff of antiseptic as he flicked the cigarette butt into the metal trash can by the doorway.

At that moment, a gleaming buzz saw popped up right in front of his nose and nearly gave him a heart attack.

"Welcome, young sir!" sang Andy cheerily. "What ails you today and how can I be of service?"

"Jesus, Andy, watch where you stick that thing," Butch snapped, skirting around the weapon and glowering at the Mister Handy as he proceeded to the pharmacy room past Dr. Ashburn's old office. "Are you even allowed to be here without Stanley around?"

"Ah, but as you know, I have been given the privilege of serving as the new Vault doctor," Andy declared with utmost pride. "So if there is anything I can help you with, please don't hesitate to ask!"

"If I decide I want help in getting maimed or dismembered, I'll let you know," Butch called back sarcastically. "I'm just here for zinc tablets and shit."

"Very well, do feel free to take what you need!"

Butch snorted at how easy it would be for anyone to just waltz in and run off with all the prescription medication if Amata's group hadn't been here to regulate clinic visits.

_Great administrative decision right there. Making this damn robot the doctor. The thing can't even slice a simple piece of bread, for Christ's sake._

He keyed in the passcode Amata had assigned to the pharmacy entrance and typed his Pip-Boy's serial number into the adjacent terminal. Once the door slid open with a rush of cool air, he stepped inside and grumbled when the lights failed to come on. Having to rely on his Pip-Boy flashlight, he pointed it at the rows of shelves containing different sized bottles, grimacing in dismay when he tried to figure out where to start.

The timer on the terminal beeped to signal ten or so more minutes before the door shut and locked him in. He hastily approached the first row of shelves and scanned each item, unable to pronounce more than half the drug names. Coupled with a severe lack of sleep and inadequate meals for the past two months, his health had taken a significant hit. In hindsight, he should have kept up with the zinc intake after he'd been released from the detention center. Or at the very least, he should have remembered what the tablets had looked like.

_This is so my luck. Spent all this time surviving just to expire from a shitty liver. Thanks for the awesome inheritance, Dad. Dead all these years and you still suck._

Butch moved along the rows, hoping he didn't miss them in case they were under some complicated scientific name or something. His only problematic symptoms consisted of the returning exhaustion and dizziness, but he was willing to take anything that would help. While he was unsure of the prognosis and progression of his disease other than the fact that it, well, _killed_ people, Freddie had made a valid point. It was gradually worsening without treatment.

He picked up the pace before a noise at the door alerted him to a new presence. The green interface of a Pip-Boy came into view, and its wearer squinted against the shine of his flashlight when he swung it over.

"Whoa, can you point that somewhere else?" Susie asked, shielding her eyes. "I think you just took out my retinas."

Butch resumed his search, not bothering with small talk. But when she sauntered over and stood next to him expectantly, he paused in his rummaging to give her a peeved look.

"Whaddya want?"

She seemed to take that as a sign to move closer. "So, Butch… I never thanked you for defending me from _that girl_ the day she and her dad escaped—"

"I wasn't," he interrupted, turning back to the shelves. "I was just stopping Ivy from doin' something she'd regret."

"Oh." The note of disappointment was replaced by a playful tone as she went on, "Well, I want to thank you, anyway. Is there anything I can do to pay you back?"

The large breasts that pressed up against his arm were more than enough to convey what she had in mind. Three years ago, he might have jumped at the chance. Now, the only thing that went through his mind was how annoying it was to have her blocking his way when he was on a time limit.

"Yeah, you know where they keep the zinc tablets in here?" he inquired and reached over her head to check the bottles at the end of the shelf. "Damn place is way too confusing with all these labels."

"Oh, that's right, you're terminally ill!" she exclaimed tactlessly.

"No, that ain't it—"

"How about we head to one of the clinic rooms and I make you forget about it for a while?"

Butch was about to deadpan a refusal when she placed her hand over his chest, right on the spot where the serpent pendant used to be.

His temper snapped without warning.

" _Back the fuck off_ and get lost," he growled, shoving her hand away. "If you're that horny, go screw Freddie or somethin'. Oh wait, he rejected you, didn't he? What makes you think you'd have better luck with me?"

Even in the dimness, Susie's anger was evident. "Uh, didn't you used to _like_ me, you dick?"

"Yeah, back before you and your fuckin' family pissed me off somethin' fierce," he returned. "And really, what're ya even doin' here, Susie? I mean here, with the rest of us, when your dad and brother are in the middle of ruling over the whole Vault?"

She retreated a few steps, crossing her arms and scowling at him. "Gosh, I really wish you'd stop lumping me in with them. They're my family, sure, but that doesn't mean I'm on their side on everything."

"You went outta your way to defend Stevie at the trial and the security station, so excuse me if I don't believe a damn thing you say."

"Fine, but even if you don't listen to me on anything else, at least hear me out on this," Susie said, growing serious. "I'm with Amata on wanting the Vault open. If that Ashburn bitch—"

"Ivy," he corrected furiously.

"Ivy, whatever," she huffed. "If she can make it out there, the rest of us should have that option, too. I don't agree with my dad on keeping the Vault closed, but more importantly, neither does Stevie."

Butch glared at her. "Well, _no shit_. Give ya one guess why he doesn't want this place closed for good."

Susie shook her head. "No, he doesn't want it open like we do, either. I'm not saying I believe he did all those things to Ivy, but he's been acting a little… unstable ever since she left."

"Oh, good. So we can expect a mass murdering spree soon, then?" Butch jeered.

Her grave expression didn't change. "This isn't something to joke about. He wants to destroy the Vault."

That wiped the sneer off Butch's face. He stared hard at her, analyzing the statement. As far as acts of reprisal went, that one made the least sense.

"Uh, _why_?"

"Look, I don't know. I haven't spoken to either of my brothers or my dad since I joined Amata."

"Ain't that convenient," Butch muttered, losing interest in anything else she had to say and returning his attention to the medications.

"Ugh, what'll it take for you to accept the fact that I'm on your side in this?" Susie demanded.

"You could start by not wasting my time when I'm tryin' to find some meds to keep death off my ass a while longer."

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. "Am I interrupting anything?" came Amata's suspicious voice.

Susie turned on her heel and stomped toward the other girl, snarling, "Nope, I was just heading out," as she brushed by.

Butch scoffed and examined one bottle that turned out to be antibiotics. Amata activated her flashlight and loitered near the exit, seeming to wait for him to address her. When he didn't, she heaved a sigh and walked to his side.

"Looking for zinc?"

"Yeah," he replied, "but it's freakin' impossible to find in here."

"Hang on, I think I know where Dr. Ashburn used to keep it."

She trekked down to the end of the rows and disappeared behind the last one. Rubbing the back of his neck, he started to follow her, but stopped when his flashlight roved over an item that caught his eye. A set of counters lined the wall to his left, containing medical tools, sanitizing equipment, and a worn-looking radio nestled between several books. He edged closer, training the light over the old electronic device. It had seen better days, but upon closer inspection, it appeared operational.

He reached out and lifted it from its spot, blowing off the layer of dust that covered its surface. Amata returned with a small bottle in hand and glanced at the radio.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked hopefully.

"Yep. Think it'd help us out at all?"

"Let's bring it to the office and take a look at it under better lighting."

She grabbed the radio with one arm and pushed the bottle of zinc tablets at him before hurrying out. He stifled a twinge of irritation and went after her. Just in the nick of time, too, for the terminal beeped and shut the door as soon as he stepped through. Switching off his flashlight, he strode to the nearby refrigerating unit to grab a bottle of distilled water as Amata set up the radio on Dr. Ashburn's desk.

"I don't know how much of my briefing you listened to," she began while Butch took a tablet, "but they cut off all communications on this level except for the intercoms. If this radio works, we might be able to open a frequency that reaches the entire Vault… and even the outside."

Butch contemplated that as he screwed the cap back on the water bottle. "Yeah, that'd be useful," he commented, leaning on the operating table opposite from the desk.

"I just need to fix some of the wiring in here. Argh, this is complicated…"

His eyes flickered to the radio and then shifted away. "Paul could've had that thing working in ten seconds flat."

Amata paused in her tinkering to peer at him. "I really am sorry about Paul. Was it the radroach attacks?"

Butch's features went stony, his sight still focused on one of the room dividers. "That's right. Complications from the injuries."

_"Just wanted to make sure the air was clear in case we don't make it out of this. Wally might have turned his back on us, but Freddie and me, we're your brothers till the end, man."_

His throat constricted at the memory of Paul's last words. _Damn it, Paul. Jinxin' yourself like that. You weren't supposed to die. It wasn't the end…_

"We lost a lot of people that day, and even more since then," Amata stated quietly, resuming work on the radio. "I just hope we don't have to lose any more."

Butch declined to respond, and the office fell into silence. He heard Andy hovering around in the next room, humming an upbeat tune to himself. The noise was oddly welcome, considering how miserable and somber things had been in the Vault. None were unscathed by the circumstances; every citizen had either lost someone in the multiple escape attempts or were subjected to the new oppressive policies and regulations under Allen Mack. Amata's rebels had been the only ones to directly oppose him, but now that his resources had stabilized, they could expect dictatorial action in the near future.

The outcome looked bleak for all of them.

"Hey, just so you're aware of what's going on," Amata piped up, "Officer Gomez reported that Stevie imprisoned Edwin Brotch in the detention center a few days ago, which is why we haven't seen him around."

Butch's brows drew together. "Shit. I _told_ him to stay on this floor, where they couldn’t reach him. Stevie was majorly pissed at him for helping us out at the trial. We have a plan to get him released?"

"Not yet, but that's next on our agenda."

He nodded, taking a minute to calculate the number of objectives piling up for their faction.

"Say, Butch," Amata continued, "I heard part of the conversation between you and Susie by accident. You asked her what she was doing with us, but I could direct the same question to you. Why are _you_ here?"

His sharp gaze snapped to her. "What was that, princess?"

She exhaled in vexation while still concentrating on the repairs. "And cut the 'Princess 101' thing. I'm not the daughter of the Overseer anymore. But really, what are you doing with us?"

"Ain't it obvious?"

"I get that you hate the Macks and refuse to put up with them, but why join my cause? From what I've noticed, you haven't really cared about fighting to open the Vault."

Butch pressed his lips together as he deliberated on whether to reply. She was smart, and he hadn't exactly made an effort to conceal his true aim. He narrowed his eyes at her, defiant and unapologetic as the answer registered on her face.

"Wait a minute. You _want_ the Overseer to keep the Vault closed," she accused, throwing down a scalpel she'd been using as a screwdriver. "That way, no one can leave to go after Ivy. And not only that, you’ve been hiding out among us so Stevie and the rest of security can’t get to you to lock you up. I can’t believe you… you’re just using us for your own advantage!"

"I don't owe you people _nothin'_ ," he barked, straightening to his full height. "You, most of all. You ragged on me and my gang for the longest time, Amata. So are you happy now? You got the last two Tunnel Snakes under your thumb. One was chased out, one turned on us, and one is fucking _dead_. And let me tell you somethin'," he rushed on when she opened her mouth, "I'm _still_ the only one in this whole goddamn place lookin' out for Ivy. Where the hell were _you_ when she was sick and alone and abused?"

Amata stiffened in her seat at the desk, her fingers tightening around the wires of the radio as she glowered at him. "Ivy was my friend, and when she distanced herself and ended up as a member of the Tunnel Snakes without telling me anything, what else was I supposed to believe? Keeping secrets is something you two have in common. Wally turned on you because you didn't tell him the truth, either."

Butch made to fling the water bottle toward the other end of the office, but gnashed his teeth and forced himself to quell the fit of rage. Stomping to the door instead, he rumbled, “Fuck you. I don’t need to listen to this from some high and mighty bitch who dropped the ball when her friend showed all the signs that somethin’ was wrong—”

"So it's all about Ivy with you?" Amata called angrily. "Is that why you chose to stay instead of leaving with her?"

He stopped in mid-step. Whirling around with a scathing one-liner ready to launch, he stuttered to a halt at her sympathetic expression.

"That must have been a considerable sacrifice on your part," she noted, sounding sincere. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

The question paralyzed him on the spot. He regarded her with a blank stare, revealing nothing even as a torrent of undefined emotion churned inside him in response. The attempt to dismiss it this time failed, and he stood there in the middle of the office, grappling with himself over whether or not to acknowledge it. The concept of romantic love was as foreign to him as the vast Wasteland, but he couldn't deny the magnetism of Ivy's essence, the constant pull of a moth to a flame. He had centered his world around her without giving it a second thought, even when he had tried to keep her at a distance. Even when she was no longer here.

He faced away, his temper receding. "It don't matter now."

Amata's lashes lowered as she studied the radio. "I understand that you want to keep the Macks preoccupied and locked in here so they can't hunt her down, but things are about to get more chaotic," she told him grimly. "What Susie said about Stevie wanting to destroy the Vault… it's probably true. Officer Gomez verified that that's the big rumor circling around."

Butch pushed his musings aside and glanced at her. "But it's just a rumor, right?"

"Yeah, except for the constant quarrels he's had with the Overseer about it, plus a pretty detailed plan of flushing out the water chip so the Vault stops being inhabitable for humans," Amata declared. "No one really knows what his motives are, but since he's the security chief, no one wants to question him to find out."

Before Butch could reply, the buzzing noise of static filled the room. Amata issued a sound of surprise as she turned the radio upright, watching parts of it light up. He approached the desk and examined it while she familiarized herself with its functions.

"So are we in business with this thing?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I got a frequency going here outside the Vault," she said. "You're not going to like what I'm intending on doing next, though."

His scowl returned, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. "When have I ever liked you or your plans?"

"Good point. But I need you to listen. We're pretty much at the end of the line here. Allen Mack is worse than my father ever was when it came to Vault regulations, and that broadcast earlier wasn't a warning, it was a call to arms. He's going to bring the entire security force down on us soon, and with our lack of resources, we won't stand a chance." Amata held his gaze before going on. "Now that this radio is working, I need to send out a distress call. I'm going to ask Ivy to come back."

"No," Butch growled at once, incensed that she'd even suggest it. "After everything I did to make sure she got away—nope. Not happening. Not until Stevie's dead."

"Which could take forever since we can't touch him in his position," Amata shot back. "We don't have the luxury of waiting around for him to flop over and die, Butch. And we don't have the manpower to kill him, either. If he really is planning to destroy the Vault, we don't even have time to argue this."

Time. Funny how there was never enough time to think, how it was never the right time to reflect. It was as if their lives were commanded by a clock that left no room for anything other than haste, misfortune, and despair.

"Why bring Ivy back?" he demanded after taking a calming breath. "Why Ivy? Why her?"

"We don't know what's out there. We don't know who would come help us or kill us. Ivy is the only person in the Wasteland we can trust for assistance. And by now, after spending months out there, she'd have experience we don't. Even though she's just one person, she has an advantage over all of us."

Butch raked his fingers through his hair, messing up the pompadour he'd only recently begun styling again. "You gotta be kidding me. She's got her own problems to worry about, finding her old man and all. What makes you think she'd come back for us?"

Amata didn't miss a beat as she gazed up at him. "Because you're here."


	14. Chapter 14

**(October 2277)**

**_Part 2_ **

The weight of the vest felt wrong on his frame, the riot helmet on his head stifling, smothering. He reached up to hook a gloved finger into the fastened collar of his jumpsuit, finding the proper wear too tight and restrictive. His sloppy gait needed work, but the disguise sufficed in serving its purpose, uncomfortable as it was. He had always walked the thin line of the law, and now, garbed from head to toe in Vault 101 security armor, he couldn't help feeling out of his own skin. Not only that, an earlier glance at his reflection incited a bout of conditioned hostility at the getup.

With the visor in place, he looked far too much like his nemesis.

The baton swung loosely over his hip while his Toothpick remained tucked inside his back pocket, yet even the switchblade provided no comfort as he sensed the mounted cameras monitoring his trek to the residential corridor. He supposed he should thank Officer Gomez for lending him the uniform, which enabled him to wander freely around the Vault, but he intended to reserve his gratitude until he made it back to the classroom unharmed. Several new members of the security force passed him by, thinking nothing of his hasty steps even as anxiety gripped him at their presence. Only when he made it to the apartments did some semblance of relief relax his frame, as no other security personnel appeared in this area.

He strode to the front door he hadn't seen in two months, hesitating before trying the lock. It slid open with no hassle, and he took two steps inside the dark interior, wrinkling his nose when the pervasive stench of alcohol wafted over to greet him. Either it had gotten stronger or he was no longer used to it because as soon as he lifted his visor, he pinched his nostrils together to keep from inhaling the smell. One remaining fluorescent light illuminated the hallway leading to the bedrooms, and he shut the door behind him before attempting to navigate through the living room, which had been completely torn apart.

"Mom?" he called, stepping over the remnants of the console table.

Something clattered from the direction of her room. He pushed the tattered sofa chair out of his path and ambled forward, coughing as he moved past several rancid dishes that reeked from the sink. A bewildered frown crossed his expression when he saw several of his belongings strewn over the hallway floor. His boot hit an old book next to a rusted wrench, and he recognized them as items his father had given him during his childhood.

Another thudding noise came from inside his mother's closed room. He kicked the objects aside and hurried over. Announcing his entrance, he pressed the switch to open the door, unprepared for the sight that met his eyes.

Ellen sat smoking a cigarette on the floor near the spot where he'd killed the radroaches months ago, a bottle of liquor in one hand and a wad of cash in the other. Most startling was her appearance. Her hair hung in tangles, and she wore a skimpy, stained nightgown made of material sheer enough to expose assets a son never wanted to see.

 _"Mom!"_ he yelped, clamping his hands over his face.

"Butch?" came Ellen's muffled answer around the cigarette.

"Holy Christ, go put on a robe or somethin', jeez!"

The sound of glass and paper dropping hit his ears as she scrambled up and ran for her dresser. "Of all the times for you to show up!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, hi to you, too," he snapped, peeking through his fingers when she stated she was decent. "What the hell happened here?"

Ellen glared at him while tying the white robe tighter around herself, the cigarette still dangling from her mouth. "The consequences of your shit, that's what happened here."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"After you turned yourself into a wanted man and then ran off to join Amata Almodovar's rebels, the authorities came down on me and gave me hell for two months straight. I've had to keep myself afloat, and you never even called or came home to let me know you were all right."

"I'm here now, ain't I?" Butch snarled. "And why were you dressed like that?"

"Because I've been working the world's oldest profession to keep the goddamn security force off my back," Ellen returned heatedly.

_The world's oldest profession?_

A sick feeling seeped into his gut as his features twisted with mortification. "Mom, you've been whorin' yourself out?"

Mute seconds ticked by. Anger, pain, and shame flashed across her face in that order, spurring a flood of contrition within him. His focus had been so set on Ivy that he'd all but forgotten about how the state of things affected his mother. Had he any inkling that this had been going on, he would have attempted to return sooner.

But there was also something else. He identified it at once in the tight set of her lips, and his horror transitioned into aggravation.

Blame.

Again.

"Oh, don't even," he growled. "This wasn't my fault. I've taken a lot of flak from you because for some reason you don't wanna believe your own son, but I ain't takin' it this time."

"Whatever. I don't want to get into that argument with you today." Ellen waved a hand in dismissal and ignored his furious look as she padded over to sit on the messy bed. "So what are you doing back? And incognito?" she asked, gesturing to his attire.

"Well obviously, I can't go waltzin' around the Vault as I damn well please anymore," he retorted, removing the helmet and wiping at his sweat-soaked hair. "I came to see how you were doin', but I guess now you're the Vault hooker, so I'll just leave—"

"No," Ellen interjected hastily. She placed the cigarette on the full ashtray on her nightstand and fixed him with a peculiar stare. "I didn't say I wanted you to go, I was just wondering."

He picked up on the odd note in her tone, but disregarded it to bark, "God, Mom, you're not gonna keep goin' with this whole prostituting gig, are ya?"

The DeLoria family had never ranked above scum, but this…

This level of degradation was intolerable.

"While the Vault is divided, I don't have a choice, Butchie," she told him, though her eyes strayed to the pre-war bills scattered over the floor. "Well, I do, but it's either this to appease the higher-ups, or they imprison me to lure you out."

He scowled as his detestation for the individuals in power reached new heights. "This is fucking disgusting," he spat right before another thought occurred to him. "Wait, please tell me your clients don't include the current security chief."

Ellen curled her lip in revulsion. "Stevie Mack? Fuck no. Only the men my age come a-knockin'. Had to turn away poor old Stanley the other night—"

"Okay, no names, my bad for bringing it up," Butch cut in, wanting to tear off his ears. He jerked his head toward the hallway in a desperate attempt to change the topic. "So what's with that disaster out there? The place looks like it's gone to hell."

"Because it did. Security ransacked the entire apartment, but mostly your room. And I've been too busy to clean and straighten everything."

The implications of her "busy" schedule provoked a wave of nausea that threatened to gag him.

"Right. I almost tripped over all Dad's old crap on my way in, thanks." Butch studied the doorway and then cast her a sideways glance. "There's another reason I risked comin' here. This has been eatin' me up—like literally—and I want the truth. Why'd Dad want Wilson's disease to be a secret?"

Ellen swung her sharp gaze to him. "How did you find out about that?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe 'cause I was diagnosed with it not too long ago," he drawled, glowering at her. "I started taking zinc while I was jailed, and Ivy broke the news before the trial. Now I'll ask again. Why'd that bastard pass on this fucking disease to me and then just die without breathing one goddamn word of it?"

Silence. His mother appeared too stunned to respond. She gaped at him from her seat, the very picture of a devastated parent coping with shocking news. Yet, something artificial emanated from her rigid posture. He replaced the helmet and folded his arms over his chest as he waited, using his height advantage to loom over her until he received his answer.

Finally, she pressed a quivering palm to her cheek. "You have Wilson's?"

"Oh, it gets better. My case is far along enough that I need treatment we don't have in the Vault," Butch jeered with heavy bitterness. "One more time. Why—"

"Because Hank didn't want you to spend your days worried that you'd inherit it," Ellen stated miserably. "He said it was better for you to hate him and believe he'd destroyed himself than for you to think you'd end up like him because of a disease out of our control."

The explanation failed to impress Butch. "One, I'm gonna hate that guy no matter what. Two, I ended up with Wilson's, anyway. So… what was the point of keeping it hush-hush again?"

"Hank just wanted you to go through life without the threat of Wilson's holding you back. And neither of us thought you'd get it. The chances of passing it down were supposed to be slim," his mother told him.

"Well, lucky me, then."

"You know, your father loved you and did the best he could, considering who he was."

"Hold the bullshit. I'm already up to overflowing with it from everyone else." Butch rubbed the stubble on his chin and exhaled, rotating toward the wall on the right. "That fucker didn't love no one but himself."

And even if it was true that Hank had wanted to protect his son's interests in his own screwed up manner, Butch felt no gratitude for the effort. Other courses of action had been more viable, such as a detailed discussion or even a cautious warning of its inheritability; these were ways every other family would have handled the situation. Still, he hadn't expected that as the reason for the concealment, and he found difficulty in associating it with the lifelong negative image he'd painted of his overbearing father.

Ellen watched him for several moments before clearing her throat and speaking up again. "Why didn't you go with Ivy Ashburn when she fled the Vault? She was on the medical track and could have found a cure for you outside this place," she pointed out. "I don't get the feeling you stayed for my sake."

Butch peered at her. "Oh, so _now_ you believe that she and I were close, and all those charges against me were false?"

"Edwin Brotch came by a few weeks ago and set the record straight," she replied, staring at the floor. "And I'm glad he put my concerns as a mother to rest."

"Sheesh, it took ya that long to—"

"It's just too bad I had to get him detained afterward."

Butch froze. _What?_ "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're the one who turned Brotch in?" he thundered, spinning around to confront her.

Ellen's solemn expression stayed constant even when the sound of the front door sliding open alerted them to a new presence. "I'm sorry."

To whom and for what he wasn't sure, but he scampered farther into the room when he heard someone approaching. "What the fuck, Mom? Who just came in? Wh—"

"Officer Wolfe? We'll have to delay our session," Ellen called out. "My son is here and will cooperate with his arrest."

Butch's heart stopped. Arrest? The familiar pangs of betrayal stung beneath his sternum, rising to a palpable throb as he gawked at her in disbelief. It made sense now, the torn look on her face. She'd stalled him on purpose so her next client could catch him. But why? He didn't understand.

His own mother was selling him out.

"Just… cooperate with them, Butchie," Ellen whispered when a male voice in the living room hollered into his radio for backup. "Once they have you in custody, I can get myself out of this arrangement. And then I can try to negotiate your healthcare. I'll take care of this, honey…"

Butch slammed his visor back into place, hardly breathing as he shook his head at her. Unreal. Her words meant nothing because her countenance exuded clear selfishness. The money had warped her; greed had taken over. She would likely use anything at her disposal to ensure her own subsistence, even if it cost her the son who'd revealed his medical condition not five minutes ago.

For the first time in his life, he couldn't decide which parent he despised more.

A coldness spread inside him, numbed the pinpricks, eased the ache. "No. We're done. I'm cutting ties with you."

_Fuck friends. Fuck family. Got only myself to rely on. Should've gotten that through my skull from the start._

Just as she began to protest, a uniformed body appeared in the doorway, armed with a standard 10mm pistol. Officer Wolfe hesitated for only an instant when he glanced at the other man wearing the security armor, but it was enough. Despite the wielded firearm, he'd already lost the advantage.

Butch went on the immediate offense, charging straight at him, giving him no time to react. His arms simultaneously drew his weapons, right hand gripping the baton while his left flicked out the Toothpick in a practiced move. Muscles flexed, contracted, prepared for the clash as he bent his knees and dove forward to dodge Officer Wolfe's reflexive trigger finger. Ellen emitted a scream at the fired round, and he reared up and smashed the baton into the older man's outstretched arm, the force audibly cracking the bone.

It wasn't a fight, but the start of the war, signaled by the howl of pain that split the air. Months of persistent self-discipline and melee training in the classroom manifested in his new lethal precision. Butch darted to the side and swung the baton again, catching the glass of his opponent's visor and shattering it. Fragments flew into delicate eye tissue, ripping, blinding. The howl reached a piercing crescendo, which Butch cut short with the angled plunge of the switchblade deep into the other's neck.

The pistol fell. Dark red spilled. And as he yanked out the Toothpick, his first human kill sank to the carpet.

Remorse, terror, and wrath all rebounded, but he tucked away his humanity into a box and locked it.

Wiping the blood from his glove and blade, he scanned the floor for items to take. The baton returned to his side as he bent down and snatched up the pistol. A quick check of the clip revealed three remaining bullets. Three more than he had before, so he stuffed the handgun into the waistband of his trousers and stepped over the bleeding corpse. His heavy panting fogged up his visor as he ignored Ellen's wails and made to leave his home for the last time. Shouts echoed from outside, and he heard his mother scurry after him when he slid the Toothpick back into his pocket and shoved more broken furniture out of his way.

The front door remained open, and as he stepped up to the edge of the threshold, he had a split second before the security patrol at the end of the corridor caught sight of him.

"Butchie, don't run! They'll shoot you!" Ellen cried.

He sent her a blank look when half a dozen pistols aimed in his direction. "I've got news for ya. Your son's already dead."

In a burst of speed, he took off toward the opposite end of the hall without sparing the screeching woman a backwards glance. Bullets fired and whizzed past him, and he felt the standard weariness set into his bones as he pushed himself across the distance. The security armor added to the encumbrance, but proved itself crucial when a lead round lodged into the back of his bulletproof vest. He swore at the sting of the padded blow on his shoulder blade, using the force to gain momentum as he flew out through the exit and into the adjacent corridor.

As if on cue, the alarms across the entire Vault blared to life. Butch skidded to a stop as the flashing red lights roved over the metal walls and reminded him of the last wide scale emergency. He started toward the route that would take him back to the classroom, but glimpsed a group of helmeted shadows about to come around the corner. The pounding boots of the patrol at his flank drew nearer, cutting his indecision short. Faced with no other options, he bolted for the stairs leading down to the reactor level.

Yells of "Get DeLoria!" reached his ears, but he sensed no pursuit as he dashed down the steps and ran to hit the switch for the generator room door. The hammering rhythm of his pulse left him shaky and clumsy in his attempts to activate it, but once he managed to hit it to open, he took a few seconds to catch his breath. Just then, his Pip-Boy gave off a noise of static.

"Butch?" came Amata's whispered voice from the device.

He lifted his wrist and lowered the volume, still listening for any encroaching footsteps. "What?" he whispered back.

"Oh, thank God. Listen, all hell broke loose—"

"Yeah, no shit."

"—and we need you to come back to the classroom _now_."

"Can't. Security's onto me."

"Damn it, really? The stalemate's over. They're after not only us, but Stevie, too."

Butch paused to let that sink in. "Wait, what? He's their fucking _boss_."

"Susie just got back from scouting and reported that he's going through with his plan to flush out the water chip. The Overseer has ordered all of us arrested, and the only reason we'll be able to hold down the fort once security gets here is that the other half of the force is pursuing Stevie."

Butch let out a harsh bark of laughter. This day just kept getting better and better. "And here I thought they were settin' off the alarms just for me. I felt special for a few minutes there…"

"Stop joking around! Where are you and how soon can you get here? We'll need all the bodies we can use to hold off the enemy once they come hurtling through."

"I'm down in the reactor level with at least two patrols by the apartments and cafeteria. Ain't no way I'll be able to get up there anytime soon."

"Shit," Amata gasped as a loud crash resounded in the background. "They're here. I gotta go. Try to get up here as soon as you can!"

"Hey, hold on—"

The line cut off before he could finish his sentence. At the same time, several yells rang out just above the stairs. Butch jumped and sprinted to the open doorway of the generator room, preparing to lock himself in and draw up a plan.

The lights were already on when he entered, and after sweeping a confused gaze around the old, torn down shooting range, he spotted a movement at the corner of his eye. In a flash, his hand drew the pistol, aiming it toward the area where the targets had once stood. Inching forward, he acted on impulse when the click of another firearm's safety echoed in the space.

Two rounds fired from his gun toward the outlined form that appeared. He realized belatedly that he had given his position away, but if he went down now, he intended on taking this other individual with him. An identical pistol came into view, pointed straight at him as the figure emerged from the shadows. As soon as he identified the security armor, he fired once more, but only nicked the other's helmet. His finger pulled the trigger again. Out of bullets.

"Butch DeLoria. What're you doing wearing that?"

He recognized the hostile tone, but it wasn't who he'd initially thought. "Officer Wilkins?"

"Well, this should make my job much easier," the older man remarked, still advancing on him. "Just got word to leave my station and apprehend the rebels. Or shoot them on sight. I like the latter option."

Butch put up a front even as the blood drained from his face. "Hey, now. Maybe this ain't the way to go—"

"You already shot at me three times," Officer Wilkins said, his sneer visible through his visor. "Now it's my turn. The difference is that I know where to shoot through this armor."

For a fleeting moment, everything went silent. Nothing in the immediate vicinity offered any cover. Butch braced himself when the trigger shifted, despondency overcoming resistance as he counted on zero fingers the number of things he had left to live for. However, the deafening impact that followed shocked him out of his hopelessness.

The other man's face _exploded_ in an instant, the body flying backwards as blood and matter splattered over the surrounding area. Butch's jaw dropped at the sight, and he stood there, unmoving, as he attempted to grasp what just happened. The thud of the remains hitting the floor resonated throughout the room, and Butch had enough time to sense the presence behind him before the steady words drifted over to fill his ears, race across his head, wrap around his core.

"What have I always told you from the first day of shooting?" her voice demanded, rougher in its timbre, but familiar in its lilt. "Line your sights, squeeze the trigger."

Butch drew in a breath before turning in a slow, clockwise motion.

There she stood, remade by the months spent outside, her features unchanged, but her demeanor transformed. Wasteland-worn and armor-clad, auburn hair chopped short to her chin again, two studded piercings decorating either side of her lower lip. The serpent pendant gleamed and beckoned to him from its chain around her neck. She cocked the shotgun that had blasted Officer Wilkins's head apart, her hazel eyes darker than he'd ever seen them.

But beneath it all, the original essence was still there.

Ivy had come back.

And judging by that dangerous smirk, she was ready to settle all scores.

It took him almost a minute to collect himself enough to speak. "Nice entrance there, Poindexter."

"Heard security yelling your name, so I figured you might need some backup. Again," she responded, scanning the premises with a gaze that recalled their shared past in this room. "Looks like things haven't changed much here. I left this place in chaos, and chaos is what greets me. And I'm supposed to rescue all this?"

Butch swallowed, uncertain how else to react to her return. A million thoughts swam through his mind, but he reigned them in, distancing himself from the raw emotion clawing for acknowledgement. Finally, he placed duty at the forefront of everything else.

"You got Amata's distress call, right? Good timing getting here. The Vault's been turned upside down in the past ten minutes," he declared, ejecting the used clip from his pistol. "Here're the choices: we either bail out Amata's faction first, take down the Overseer, or look for Stevie. Take your pick."

Ivy regarded him for a second before reaching into her pocket and tossing him a full clip. "Amata. Then the Overseer. You can tell me all about what Stevie's up to these days while we head over. By the way, that security uniform doesn't do you any justice."

He frowned and caught the clip, loading it. "Tell me somethin' I don't know, girl," he muttered, staring at her. "You gotta tell me, though. Did you find your dad?"

"My father's dead."

The harsh iteration that left her lips sparked a moment of déjà vu. He saw the way she peered up at him, just like she had during their first day of school when he'd tripped her in the classroom. While the circumstances differed, it affected him all the same.

_"My mommy's dead."_

Butch uttered a curse at both the memory and the revelation. "Damn. Sorry."

She nodded toward the direction of the stairs, the pain flashing briefly in her expression before she stifled it. "Condolences later. Let's go save this fucking damsel of a Vault."


	15. Chapter 15

**(October 2277)**

**_Part 3_ **

The roving lights bathed them in hues of scarlet as they stormed through the raucous metal halls. Security obstruction fell to their shots, one after another, given no mercy in the face of Ivy's grim determination and the barrel of her combat shotgun. Unlike the last time they cleaved a bloody swathe through the Vault, Butch proved himself essential by providing fire support from her four o' clock. He aimed the pistol at the exposed neck of one unfamiliar officer who had made the bewildering decision of sprinting straight toward them, baton poised to strike. Butch fired thrice, watching the man's throat cave to the barrage of bullets and feeling nothing as he crumpled to the floor.

Ivy took the reprieve to reload her firearm as she surveyed the pile of bodies littering the corridor. "You seem a lot more resilient about shooting people down now, Butch. From what I remember, you objected to this very thing when I was leaving the Vault."

"Well, when some fucker comes chargin' right at ya when you're pointing a gun at him, least you can do is give him what he's askin' for," he remarked dryly over the continuous alarms. His eyes studied her deft movements, the way she handled her equipment with efficiency. But once he took in the wavy hair she kept tucking behind her ears, he reached up to unhook his helmet. "Ivy. Here, put this thing on. That leather armor looks good, but you're leavin' your head unprotected."

She glanced up from her task, the stoniness in her gaze softening at the gesture. "Thanks, but I'm fine. Keep it."

He frowned and secured it back in place, losing the opportunity to argue when she slung her pack over her shoulders and marched ahead.

"The classroom and clinic, right?" she asked without slowing down.

"Yeah," he replied as he hurried after her. "But this ain't gonna be no picnic. It's you, me, and like seven rebels against close to fifty percent of the fuckin' security force at once."

"We'll take care of them," Ivy declared with so much conviction that he almost believed her. "It's Stevie I'm concerned about."

An irrational bout of annoyance hit him in response to that statement, but he pushed it back along with the reminder that he'd been the one to sever their bond during her escape. He pressed on behind her, preparing himself for the next set of obstacles even as his mind wandered to a plethora of regretful what ifs. If he'd said and done things differently during that last desperate confrontation in August, would she have returned with him in mind instead of Stevie? If he had killed Stevie himself during her absence, would she have returned at all? And since she came back, anyway, did that mean breaking off their "relationship" had been a pointless and tragic decision?

Butch released an audible growl when they reached the stairs and heard a series of screams in the distance. _Not the time. Ain't never the time. C'mon, what's done is done so get it together and focus._

Ivy stopped halfway up the steps and held out an arm to keep him back. "Wait here."

"Say what? The hell am I supposed to do here? Work on my needlepoint or somethin'?" he snapped. "And no way I'm lettin' you go up there yourself."

"I'm trying to avoid as many casualties as possible. This next move is already risky enough—"

The radio on his Pip-Boy interrupted them as Amata's frantic voice came on. "Butch! Some people have been injured so we've retreated to the clinic, but our barricade isn't going to last much longer. Security's relentless in their raid, and they're breaking it down. If you hear this, just save yourself! Don't head this way!"

Ivy seized his wrist before he could react. "Amata," she barked.

"Oh my God, Ivy?!"

"Get everyone away from the door. And I _mean_ away. There's going to be a series of explosions in T-minus thirty seconds."

"What?!"

Ivy reached for one of several small round objects on her belt that Butch hadn't noticed before. "I've got a dozen frag grenades that'll blast security right off your asses."

"Oh shi—"

As the frequency cut off, Butch yanked his wrist out of Ivy's grasp and wrapped his fingers around her forearm. "You even know what you're doin' with those things?"

She swatted his hand away, pinning him with a meaningful glare. "Stay."

And with that order, she disappeared around the corner to climb the second set of stairs. He, of course, refused to do as told. But as soon as he trudged four steps after her, he had enough time to watch her yank the pin off the first grenade and throw it before he took that as the cue to get behind cover. Flattening himself back against the wall, he felt the explosion rock the metal surfaces of the Vault, the deafening noise assaulting his eardrums. Two more consecutive blasts followed, accompanied by panicked yells and scattered gunfire. His heart pounded with anxiety when he heard nothing further from Ivy, and he chanced a look toward the top of the stairs.

She had perched herself low on the first three steps, the next grenade clutched in her hand as she listened and waited. When a new set of alarmed shouts approached, she jumped up, chucked the explosive, and crouched back down. Butch staggered to the side from the force of the closer impact, witnessing the fiery cloud that burst through the corridor. He regained his footing and squatted down behind his cover to watch as Ivy continued the pattern for the next few minutes until she ran out of grenades. Once the air cleared and no one else came running, she drew her shotgun and rose to cautiously stalk forward.

Butch scrambled up and darted after her, tripping over his own feet in his haste. When he finally made it to the top, he halted and sucked in a breath at the gory mess distributed all over the hallway in front of the clinic. Bits and pieces of what used to be human beings clung to the floor and walls, some spatters even reaching the ceiling. Identifiable body parts and uniform remnants comprised the bulk of the gruesome pile, which Ivy waded through with disturbing nonchalance. The strong smell of blood and other acrid bodily fluids assailed Butch's nose, and he worked to keep his breathing shallow as he picked his way around the dismembered corpses.

"Amata?" Ivy called through the closed clinic entrance. "You can come out. It's safe."

A commotion erupted on the other side as the sounds of heavy items and furniture scraped across the floor in the presumable removal of the barricade. Moments later, the battered door shuddered open to reveal a haggard Amata, whose face went from elated to horrified when she caught sight of the grisly state of the hall. Susie came up behind her and promptly turned back around to throw up.

"Ivy," Amata greeted in a shaky voice, putting much obvious effort in holding eye contact with her. "I'm so glad you came back. I'd hug you, but you have a bit of… um, security personnel on you."

Ivy impatiently flicked away the chunk of flesh on her shoulder and stated, "Butch gave me the rundown on our way up here, so I understand the urgency of your distress signal. But I'll need to go off something more specific than, 'Stop the goddamn Overseer and hunt down Stevie's crazy ass.'"

Butch shrugged when both girls sent him sharp glances. "What? Pretty accurate summary of all this shit happening if you ask me."

"Well, yeah, we've got a catastrophe on our hands," Amata confirmed and beckoned them inside. "Come with me, I need to show you something."

Susie wiped her mouth and moved out of their path, glowering at Ivy. Butch lifted his visor as he trailed along and saw Freddie helping to fasten a sling for Christine Kendall's arm on one of the operating tables. Their faces conveyed exhaustion, but they both perked up when they spotted Ivy striding past. A blood-soaked Andy welcomed her back from one corner, where someone had chained him up. Officer Gomez seemed the likely culprit, for he grumbled and shook his head at the Mister Handy while dragging the mutilated and very dead form of Beatrice Armstrong to the opposite corner. Once he noticed Ivy, however, his features lit with renewed hope.

They proceeded to the office, where Old Lady Palmer appeared from the open pharmacy. Sight landing on Ivy, she scurried over and wrapped her in a grandmotherly hug, evidently not sharing Amata's revulsion for the guts and grime on Ivy's armor.

"It's so good to see you, dear," she said, drawing back to give the young woman a tired and sad smile. "I was worried about what had become of you out in the Wastes."

Ivy patted her on the arm and assured her of her wellbeing while Butch followed Amata to Dr. Ashburn's old desk, where a projector had been set up. He glimpsed the screen on the wall as it flickered on from standby mode and revealed a series of moving images in sectional squares, which he identified as various locations throughout the Vault. Once Ivy convinced Mrs. Palmer to go make herself useful in the next room, she came to stand beside Butch, her forehead creasing as she studied the display.

"Officer Gomez was able to reroute a lot of the security cameras all over the Vault so we can see their rolling footage here," Amata explained. She searched through the videos and then zoomed in on one camera, which showed a multitude of security officers crowded around a sealed door, more daunting than the group attempting to invade the clinic. "So that's where the rest of the force was headed. I should've known. The filtration room."

"We were just on that level," Butch exclaimed as he cringed at the thought of taking on those numbers. "The generator room is like right next door. What're they clustered around there for?"

"Stevie," Ivy thundered, brandishing her shotgun. "That must be where the controls are for the water chip. I'd go in now by myself, but I don't have any more grenades."

"I'd rather you not repeat that method, anyway," Amata told her with clear disapproval. "And I'm guessing Stevie's trying to hack the terminal to flush the water chip, so we have a time limit. Better for you to just bypass security and get inside that room as soon as possible."

Butch scowled at her. "And how're we supposed to do that, genius?"

Amata grimaced as she contemplated it. "Good question. I'd say try sneaking in through the generator room, but that connecting door is always inaccessible—"

"If I may intrude," someone else spoke from the doorway.

Staring over his shoulder, Butch recognized the tall form of Stanley, who stood hunched over with his jumpsuit in tatters and several cuts adorning his weathered skin. Susie was at his side, using her entire frame to support and hold him up as they slowly advanced into the office.

"Easy, Grandpa," she muttered. "You were crazy to try and stave off security by yourself down there."

She deposited him in a nearby chair while the others looked on, and Butch approached him to kneel down and examine his wounds.

"Goddamn, old timer. What'd security attack ya for?" he inquired, recalling how the officers had always treated Stanley with respect when he'd provided Butch's community service at the detention center.

Stanley took a minute to catch his breath. "The new guys are really gung-ho. Didn't even hesitate to rough me up when I wouldn't get out of the way fast enough." Shaking his head, he turned toward Amata. "I'm not sure why everyone's gone nuts, but I overheard enough just now and think I can help. Pull up the larger resolution of the camera in the Overseer's office."

Amata did so, and they all peered at the live footage of Allen Mack's movements. He was hovering in front of his own monitor, posture tense as he watched the situation in the lower level.

"Most of the ventilation shafts throughout the Vault are connected, but only one has a direct path to the filtration room." Stanley pointed to the shutter cover above the Overseer's central desk. "That one."

Butch registered the implied course of action and groaned as he rose to his feet. "Aw, Christ, vents again? Vents are the reason all my problems started—"

"Maybe it would be better if I went alone," Ivy suggested, marching up to the hidden wall safe she'd failed to open on her way out in August.

He sighed in irritation. "No way, I'm comin' with ya. But this is gonna suck."

Her lockpicking skills must have improved because this time she broke into the safe with ease, producing some paper, a plastic bag of bottle caps, and a holodisk that she pressed to her lips before tucking into her pocket.

"Looks like we're going to end up killing two birds with one stone," Amata murmured as her expression went grim. "We still have to deal with the Overseer, too."

Susie took an immediate step forward, anger marring her features. "Hey, what the hell do you mean by that?" she demanded. "I thought we agreed that I'd go in and talk to my dad."

"That was before he sent armed personnel to attack and imprison us," Amata snapped. "There's no reasoning with him, Susie. He's never going to allow the Vault open, and if Stevie doesn't manage to destroy it, he's just going to order our arrests again."

"Well, what are our options, then?"

Ivy returned to Butch's side and offered a blunt answer. "Either he steps down from his position for the sake of the Vault, or I kill him."

If possible, Susie seemed on the verge of combusting. " _What did you just say, you bitch_? Aren't you supposed to be a medical professional or some shit? And here you are, blowing people up and spouting off moronic things like killing my dad! The fuck do you have against my family, anyway? I almost wish all those things you claimed Stevie did to you were true because you're a fucking cunt who deserves—"

The heavy hand that struck her across the face cut her off. She stumbled back and held a palm to her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief as Ivy lowered her arm and glowered at her.

"Remind me later, and I'll use my medical knowledge to prescribe you a painkiller for that bruise," Ivy spat.

A few beats of stunned silence rolled over the office. Butch detected the threat in her stance, but saw the way she reigned in her ire to that mere warning. Stanley gaped back and forth between them from his seat, though he made no effort to defend his granddaughter.

Amata raked her fingers through her hair in apparent exasperation and strode around the desk to stand front and center, giving Ivy an admonishing stare. "All right, cool it. Even though Susie's got a big mouth, she's not the enemy. Stevie killed my father, but you don't see me taking it out on her."

Ivy pierced her with a frosty look before turning and stalking toward the door. "I'm going to take care of this. Anyone who wants to come, let's go."

Butch went after her without hesitating, though he faltered when Amata stayed in place. "What, you're not comin'?"

"I have to be here ready to defend us in case part of the remaining security force branches off and comes for us again," she declared.

He rolled his eyes and stomped away. "Getting us to do your dirty work. I see how it is."

Her protest fell on deaf ears as he hurried out of the clinic. When he caught up to Ivy back out in the corridor, he pulled his visor down and peered at her, noting the intense vibe that now defined her conduct. He could only imagine what she'd experienced in the Wasteland to result in this coldness and aggression, which made her into something she wasn't. But from a personal standpoint, he was right there with her in mentality. Life had screwed them over far too many times, driving them to the brink of their limits in perpetual misfortune and torment.

It was their turn.

They stepped over the mess and gore and took the familiar route to the admin level. The alarms had finally short-circuited and ceased, though the red lights continued to flash over the metal walls. Ivy led the way through the systems room, not bothering with any sort of discussion on strategy as she delved ahead. Butch kept pace with her, inwardly questioning the necessity of his presence if she intended to just shoot the top two men on her hit list and be done with it.

They emerged into the corridor leading to the security station and Overseer's office. As they passed by the window to the station, he suddenly remembered something. Tugging on one handle of her pack to slow her down, he gestured behind him at the questioning quirk of her eyebrow.

"Brotch's been jailed in there," he told her, stepping back to head that way. "We gotta free him first."

She glanced down the hall with evident impatience, but didn't object as he entered the station. Scanning the area, he settled on the terminal to the left of the holding cell, figuring that was the best bet to opening it.

"Any idea what the password is?" Ivy asked when he booted up the machine and found it locked.

Butch swore at the limited number of guess attempts on the monitor. "Fuck. Only someone from security would know—" He paused when his arms smacked the sides of his hips, feeling something crinkle in the left pocket of his trousers. Digging inside, he produced a piece of paper with a single word printed on it. "Oh, no way…"

But when he typed it into the keyboard, they heard the cell door unlock with a click.

"Nice. Way to go, Gomez," he muttered, doubly glad for the loaned uniform.

Ivy swiftly pushed the door open, and Edwin Brotch appeared a few moments later, looking thinner and disheveled, but not too mistreated. His shocked gaze shifted from Butch to Ivy.

"Man, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," he remarked. "Has the Vault been annihilated yet?"

"Nope, but it's getting close," Butch replied. "I'd get to the clinic where everyone else is. Ivy and me, we got business with the Overseer and the security chief."

"Right. Great to see you back, Ivy. Be safe. Both of you." Edwin clapped each of them on the shoulder to show his gratitude before jogging out.

Ivy turned to Butch and jerked her head toward the exit before going on the move. He followed close behind, feeling his gut twist with apprehension again as he drew his pistol and readied himself for the upcoming confrontation. A quiet eeriness had taken over the environment, with only the sounds of their hasty footsteps breaking the stillness of the hall. This differed from the last time they'd gone through here together, not only in the circumstances but in the people they had become.

They reached the door to the Overseer's office, and Ivy tried the switch to find it unlocked. She exchanged a quick glance with Butch before barging right in, the barrel of her shotgun roving left and right before settling on the man standing in front of the vast window overlooking the atrium.

"Well, look at who came crawling back home," Allen Mack rumbled, sneering at Ivy. "And you brought your single-celled boy toy along for the ride."

Butch didn't know what "single-celled" was supposed to mean, but he was pretty sure it was an insult.

"I'm giving you an option to stand down and relinquish control of the Vault," Ivy declared, features impassive as she advanced on him. "You're not even the one I came back to deal with, so this is your chance to walk away."

For some inexplicable reason, Mr. Mack threw his head back and guffawed obnoxiously.

Butch scowled, finding the audacity infuriating. "Yeah, real funny, considering your son is a few minutes away from fucking all of us over," he snarled, raising his pistol to remind the older man of the unfavorable odds against him.

That cut the laughter short. "Security is handling the situation. But my boy wouldn't really flush out the water chip. Just like he didn't do all that shit you two kept blaming him for," Mr. Mack growled. "So why don't you lower that gun there, missy? Spineless trash like you wouldn't have the guts to shoot me."

A muscle worked in Ivy's jaw as Butch snorted.

_Boy, are you in for a surprise if you live to see the clinic hallway…_

"The only reason I haven't already blown your head off is that there's a girl in the clinic right now who would be devastated if her father perished for no reason," Ivy stated.

Although she kept her barrel pointed at the Overseer, Butch caught onto her sincere and unexpected reluctance in taking his life.

Mr. Mack rewarded that clemency with a scoff. "False bravado. It doesn't suit you. Now if you're finished wasting my time, I have a Vault to run." He reached back and grabbed the rifle strapped to his shoulder. "But since I've called your bluff and expect you to continue making a nuisance of yourselves, I'll simply have to off you. Starting with DeLoria."

Three things happened at once. The moment Butch aimed the pistol, Mr. Mack swung the rifle toward him, a satanic glint in his eye. But before either man could fire at each other, Ivy leaped in front of Butch and blasted the Overseer herself. The crack of the shell reverberated throughout the office as the Mack patriarch slammed into the floor with a gush of blood, a massive chunk of his forehead missing. Butch realized something else had occurred because Ivy went careening backwards into him, and he dropped the pistol to catch her as she grunted from an impact that he didn't believe came from shotgun recoil.

"Ugh… this armor doesn't hold up that well against 5.56mm rounds," she said in a tight voice, clutching onto his shoulders to steady herself.

"What the hell! Why'd you jump in and use yourself as a shield like that?!" Butch demanded, taking her by the arms and shaking her when he saw she hadn't been wounded.

Ivy batted him away and rubbed her abdomen, where the round had bounced off. "Because that armor you're wearing holds up even less than mine. Quit freaking out. I've been shot at more times in the past two months than the entire security force combined."

He seethed on the spot as she strode over to place her shotgun on the desk and examined the shutter cover high on the wall. Did she just… _not care_ about injury or death anymore? He would have thought she'd relapsed back into her suicidal black hole, but the way she exhibited a clear focus and purpose dismissed that notion. On one hand, he was impressed with how far she'd come from a helpless victim in the Vault to a devil-may-care wanderer of the Wasteland, but on the other, he couldn't help his concern for her.

Butch glanced at Allen Mack's freshly killed corpse, feeling an overwhelming sense of justice at the sight. "Well, too bad you couldn't go with what Susie wanted for her dad, huh?"

"I didn't want another father to die, but he gave me a reason by forcing my hand," Ivy returned in a curt tone.

"Yeah, I wasn't blamin' ya or anything. 'Sides, you gotta admit, most of us have daddy issues."

Himself, Ivy, Amata, and now the Mack kids. The fathers may have been dead, but the issues lingered, never dissipating, never leaving.

Ivy's attention remained on the next task. "True enough."

He dawdled as his vexation ebbed, the silver studs on her lower lip sidetracking him. "By the way, what's with those lip piercings?"

She sent him a terse glance. "They're called snakebites. Here, come give me a boost so I can pry the cover off the vent."

"Snakebites, huh?" he inquired, walking over to do as requested. "Miss me that much, Poindexter?"

The mild jibe was meant to ease the tense mood, but she only frowned when he hoisted her up by the waist.

"You have no idea," she murmured.

Butch grew somber at the admission and quieted down, redirecting his concentration to the startling effort it took to hold her up. He wasn't sure if it was the armor or her pack, but she was twice as heavy as he remembered. She didn't seem to have increased in size, but he kept his mouth shut and bore with it, knowing better than to ever mention a woman's weight. Within a few minutes, she yanked the shutter cover off and nearly toppled backwards before Butch tightened his grasp and lowered her back down. Discarding the cover, she pointed to one of the smaller desks to the side, and he got the hint to help her slide it over. After setting it in place and retrieving their weapons, they clambered into the vent with Ivy in the lead.

"Can't say I've missed crawlin' around one of these things," Butch commented wryly.

"This part is somewhat anticlimactic," Ivy remarked, pulling herself forward with her elbows as fast as possible.

He let out a humorless chuckle and followed the glow of her Pip-Boy flashlight. "Yeah, but once we get to the other end—and this goes for any end of any vent shaft—it's all trouble from there."

They progressed as such for a considerable distance, though the singular path eliminated all chances of losing direction. Eventually, the shaft widened enough for them to rise into crouching positions. A cool draft blew their way as they neared the end, and fluorescent light poured in from the filtration room. The hum of machinery and distant banging disguised the noises of their footsteps when they reached the shuttered hatch that dropped down to their destination. Ivy switched off her flashlight and kneeled over the opening, sweeping a wary gaze around as far as she could.

"I can't see him," she whispered.

Butch edged closer, peering down and spotting no one at terminal of the control console. "He's gotta be in there somewhere. I'll go in first as bait."

Ivy seized his sleeve when he prepared to do just that. "What? No. I'll do it."

"Ivy," he hissed, hands coming up to shift her away from the hatch. "This ain't up for debate. I don't care how much combat experience you have over me. I can't keep watchin' ya throw yourself headfirst into the line of fire." His grip loosened, fingertips lingering over the rough leather of her attire before letting go. "Just… try to see it from my perspective."

She sighed deeply in the dimness and reached out to cup his cheek. "I am, which is why I'm trying to protect you." Dropping her hand, she scooted back. "All right. Go in quietly and be alert."

He refrained from dwelling on the meaning of her statement, realizing that even if he died today, it might have been a clue that things between them hadn't been completely destroyed. Tucking the pistol into his waistband again, he lifted the hatch and took a few breaths as he positioned himself to jump down. Whatever happened from this point on, at least he knew that at one point in his life, he'd done something worthwhile.

_Now or never. The Butch-man's goin' out with a bang either way._

In one swift motion, he leaped down and landed on his feet, drawing the pistol at once. At first, the space seemed empty of other people. The banging of security continued outside, but the entrance had been soldered shut and barred with dilapidated parts of machinery. He swiveled around in a full circle and failed to notice the barrel of another pistol until he found it pointing at his torso.

His stomach plummeted at the identity of the wielder. "Wally?"

The former Tunnel Snake regarded him with a troubled expression from atop one of the fixtures at the rear end of the room. "You shouldn't have come here, Butch."

"No, it's fitting that he has," another familiar voice declared from his left.

Butch kept his gun aimed at Wally, but rotated his head to see Stevie sauntering out of the console alcove, appearing as sadistic as ever, but now with an additional gleam of insanity in his dark eyes. He wore a set of metal armor that Butch doubted was Vault-issued, complete with a sturdy helmet. In his arms, he carried an assault rifle similar to his father's. Its barrel trailed over the floor as he approached, gait cocky and unhurried.

"Wally had warned me that someone might try to come in through the vents. Didn't think it would be you, though," Stevie commented with a smirk.

"The fuck do you think you're doin' planning on flushing out the water chip?" Butch barked, cutting to the chase. He hoped Ivy could hear all this and stayed where she was. "You're gonna screw with the lives of hundreds of people that have nothin' to do with your goddamn grudges."

Stevie shrugged, sending a lazy glance at the door when a particularly loud pounding erupted. "And I'm supposed to care why? This Vault was on the road to imminent doom, anyway. I wasn't going to sit by while my father closes it off for good."

"Amata's faction was tryin' to open it. Why didn't you just vouch for her?"

"Well, let's see… probably because almost a hundred percent of the 'rebels' happened to be responsible for ruining my good name and getting me sentenced to imprisonment," Stevie snarled. "So I came up with a better idea: purge this place. Besides, I have unfinished business walking around in the Wasteland, and unlike _you_ , I wasn't willing to let her go."

Butch swung an accusing glare at Wally. "You fuckin' support this?"

"It seemed to be a good move," Wally replied, the wavering note in his voice a sign that he wasn't here of his own accord. At least, not anymore.

Stevie took another step forward, but stopped when Butch shifted to point the pistol at him. "Well, now that you've heard my nefarious plans and delayed me by a minute, I guess it's about time you die. Wally, shoot him."

Butch stiffened. Stevie was so heavily armored against his pistol that he wasn't sure if he should chance a bullet ricocheting back at him. But if he stalled, he faced the possibility of another stab in the back.

However, no sound came from Wally's direction. Stevie's countenance twisted with malice as he glared at his brother.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Shoot him so I can finish working on the terminal hack."

"But…" came Wally's hesitant protest.

Butch lifted his pistol higher, aiming for Stevie's exposed face. If he could just get him there…

_CLANG._

He missed and hit the helmet. _Motherfuck—I even lined my sights and squeezed the trigger!_

At Stevie's outraged roar, Butch dove for cover behind the large central filter. A barrage of rounds fired his way and came closer as Stevie dashed around after him, firing the assault rifle wildly. Hoping Wally continued to distract himself with his internal struggle, Butch scrambled up and sprinted behind another electronic structure, dodging bullets as he ran. He predicted that his clip would run out before Stevie's did, and he didn't have a spare on him. He palmed his baton, though he'd have to get close to his target to have any shot at taking him on with melee.

His heart climbed to his throat as he listened for the running steps, planning to clothesline Stevie once he charged through. But when the telltale blast of a shotgun shell ripped through the air, he swore and poked his head out from his cover.

Ivy had managed to shoot the rifle from Stevie's hands, and she unloaded on him round after round, marching forward ferociously. Bits and pieces of metal armor flew in different directions as Stevie took each hit head on, staggering backwards and given no time to recover under the force of her firepower. Butch got the distinct notion that he was once again superfluous in all this, but he inched out of his hiding place just in case Wally became a threat.

The younger Mack, however, appeared paralyzed with shock as he watched his brother stumble from a heavy blast to the stomach, which blew a hole through the thickest part of the armor. Upon closer inspection, Butch saw Ivy's limbs shaking as she gazed at Stevie with a combination of hatred and fear. She paused in her shooting to reload the shotgun, seemingly tuning out everything else as the spirit of retribution possessed her.

Stevie gawked at her in disbelief, either from the fact that she'd launched nearly a dozen shells into him or that she had returned. He coughed and fell forward onto his hands and knees, the helmet weighing down his neck before he lifted his head and found himself at the end of her barrel once more. Butch witnessed the silent exchange between them, recalling how Ivy had described their initial relationship before it warped into something perverse and sinister.

Finally, Stevie rose to the highest point on his knees, winded and gasping for air. "Never even gave me a chance, Ivy. On anything. Remember how we used to be? We could've had more than this. Marriage, a family…"

Something glistened on her face, and it took Butch a moment to realize a tear had streaked down over her cheek.

"The drugs you made me take," she said in a thick voice. "They're the reason I miscarried. Because you wouldn't listen."

Stevie's expression tightened and closed off, something inside dying at the revelation. Butch felt the breath leave his lungs as well, and he lowered his gun as he stared at Ivy's devastated frame, the true colors of her locked and tattered heart showing through the cold façade.

"It was a boy," she continued, pulling herself together enough to take a deep breath. "And may you both rest in peace."

The final blast hit Stevie in the chest and knocked him backwards into the metal column of the filter. His body lay prone, unmoving. Ivy swayed unsteadily from sheer exhaustion and dropped the shotgun, bringing up a trembling hand to wipe at her face. The relief radiated from her features when she turned to Butch, who stood behind her. She nodded to him and exhaled, as if indicating the end of the nightmare. Security continued their assault on the door while Wally uttered an oath and slid down from his post, throwing down the pistol and bracing himself on the wall.

Ivy took a step toward Butch, weary but no longer so haunted, and he was about to reach for her when something drew his attention.

It wasn't over. Far from it.

The downed man rose again, having been spared from permanent demise by the thick bulletproof vest that peeked through the remnants of his armor and jumpsuit. In the span of three slow seconds, his visage took on sheer madness, all sanity gone as he drew a pistol that had been hidden beneath the armor. Before anyone could react, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

Butch should have tried harder to get Ivy to accept and wear his helmet. The instinct had insisted, foreshadowed this moment. He knew… he _knew_ … he _KNEW_ he should have forced her to take it.

Her eyes widened when the bullet struck her in the back of the head. Droplets of blood flew out in a macabre halo, searing the image into Butch's memory forever. She didn't scream, didn't cry out. Only a small gasp, a few short breaths, and in the next instant her eyelids sealed the hazel irises shut as she succumbed to the dark and collapsed in his arms.


	16. Chapter 16

  
  
(2015 Cover by Orifiel)

x-x-x-x-x

**(October 2277)**

**_Part 4_ **

A long time ago, a girl fell before him and bloodied her nose on the floor.

She'd meant less than nothing, a grating eyesore in an equally grating Vault. The crossing of their paths cemented the mutual contempt for years to come, tying them together in a whirlwind of resentment and rivalry. He'd hated her with every fiber of his being, wishing her misfortune and disaster at every opportunity, be it the destruction of her family or the cost of her life. But when the gears switched and altered the nature of their connection, neither had predicted the changes within themselves and in each other.

The desire for sabotage and harm transformed into the willingness to protect and sacrifice for one another. On a foundation of past antagonism, they built something pure and solid, a restructured bond that entwined and sealed them as one. Yet, in a belated and cruel twist of fate, some higher power saw fit to grant both of his original wishes.

A few seconds ago, that same girl fell against him and bloodied his hands with her skull.

Only now, she meant everything.

In that moment, Butch forgot how to breathe as he clutched Ivy's limp body to his chest, gawking in horror at the red staining her auburn hair. Every thought, every feeling, vanished from his senses, leaving only the awareness that the last vestiges of his self-control lived in the slowing beat of her pulse. A winding tension tightened inside him as his legs slowly gave, and he sank with her to the floor in a haze too terrible, too surreal to be true. Crouching now on one knee, he hugged her close and tried to latch onto her warmth, his nails curling into her rough armor as his cheek pressed against hers.

_No, no, no… God, no._

His throat closed up and attempted to suppress all vocal grief, leaving him shaking with volatile fury. He'd known this entire mission was risky, but she wasn't supposed to be the one to go down. Not like this. Not robbed of her rightful retribution by the exact target of her revenge. The injustice was outrageous, unbelievable in its result. His vision grew blurry, and hot drops spilled from his eyes as he squinted them shut, burying his face into the wavy hair untouched by blood. She smelled of the Wasteland, gun oil, and sweat, but beneath it all he detected the familiar floral scent he knew well.

"Ivy, wake up. Come on," he murmured in a broken voice next to her ear. "You can't die now, girl. We were so close, Ivy, _this_ close to setting things right. You were kickin' ass all over the damn place, showin' everyone who's boss. Don't let this stop ya, this ain't the way it's supposed to be. I bet you survived worse than this, you just gotta… just gotta get back up. Like you always do when you're knocked down. Just… _fuck, why_?!"

He held her tighter as his shoulders trembled, crying—actually _crying_ —for the first time since he could remember. It was so unfair, taking everything away from her. Taking her away from him. An ever-shifting force had seen fit to throw them together through thick and thin, only to rip them apart when they found what they needed in each other. And Ivy, a victim in so many ways, should've been given release from her misery; some sort of compensation for all she'd endured. Instead, here she lay, bleeding out with no satisfactory conclusion, having lost the chance for closure, peace, and a better future.

The world was sick.

"Jesus," Wally shrieked from somewhere to the left. "Fuck all this. You're on your own. I'm outta here."

Butch heard his footsteps run past to hurry toward the direction of the vent. He collected himself and wiped the dampness from his face with the back of one hand, stiffening when the click of an empty gun interrupted his mourning. Gaze brimming with hellfire, he saw Stevie tsk and toss the pistol away after attempting to fire a second shot, this time at Butch. The audacity evoked a surge of homicidal intent in the man holding the fallen woman. With deliberate movements, he gently set her down and rose to his feet, all traces of impeding emotion buried deep in his soul.

The remaining individuals regarded each other with unconcealed hostility. They waited, watched, analyzed. A tangible finality hung in the air amidst the perpetual racket outside the door. Two left standing, but only one would walk away. This fight promised to be nothing like the one in the interrogation room all those months ago. Ivy's demise came at a cost to them both, and neither would rest until the other paid the price.

Because for want of a woman, the woman was lost.

Stevie stole a brief glance at her, a strange look crossing his features in a manner that almost humanized him. Butch filtered out the image with scorn, not daring to believe it was sorrow. The lights flickered then, commanding their attention. The assault rifle sat at an approximate equal distance between them while Ivy's shotgun lay closer to Butch. Their eyes locked, flared, exchanged the silent challenge to draw.

And thus it began.

Butch leaped forward as Stevie raced to the side. His fingers clamped around the shotgun, and, snapping it up, Butch aimed and fired at once. The older man barrel-rolled to dodge the shells, seizing the rifle along the way. When he swung his weapon around to return fire, Butch sprinted off and slid behind a line of consoles. Perspiration moistened his hair under the helmet as an unrelenting barrage of rounds struck metal, raining sparks over him. His heart pumped with adrenaline, and he checked the shotgun chamber to count five more shells. Insufficient.

He listened for Stevie's location when the bullets stopped, hearing the other man reloading several meters away at his five o'clock. Taking the opportunity, Butch popped up and looked down his barrel to scan the floor, but realized Stevie had taken cover somewhere in the mass of electronic structures. He steadied the stock against his shoulder and awaited the sound of the magazine clicking into place. Then, as soon as he spotted an arm come into view, he shot it.

Stevie swore when the slug exploded on his appendage, though the sturdy sleeves of his second-layer armor soaked up most of the damage. Butch ducked back down and gritted his teeth, deciding he'd need either a plan or more ammo if he wanted to break through Stevie's gear. He hated the idea of going through Ivy's pack like a scavenger, but the thought crossed his mind when a new wave of bullets hit the fixtures shielding him. For all he knew, Stevie could have rounds strapped all over his body.

Butch surveyed the area, searching for a possible vantage point that would benefit his short range weapon. He settled on another group of fixed consoles that flanked Stevie's position. As soon as the other man paused to reload again, Butch snuck along the perimeter of the filter and kneeled in the new spot. This brought him back around near Ivy's location, and he quickly drafted a possible route to her pack in case the situation went sideways enough to call for it.

Security had stopped pounding on the door to shout muffled instructions to each other, so he strained to detect Stevie's movements. With luck, Stevie would advance to his previous position, granting Butch the chance to blindside him. However, he jolted when a rookie mistake gave him away.

"Butch! Are you guys okay? Butch, come in," Amata's infuriating voice hollered from his Pip-Boy radio.

_Fuck!_

The assault rifle immediately spat bullets in his direction, and he growled out a string of obscenities as he slammed his fist into the mute button. Running footfalls told him Stevie was switching to another location, and once he heard a break in the rapid fire, he jumped up and sent two consecutive blasts at the other man's figure. One managed to embed pellets into a weak point on the side of the vest, which he memorized as Stevie yelled out in pain. Butch crouched to avoid the next set of rounds, but experienced a mild bout of panic at the realization they were coming closer.

Scrambling to his feet, he dashed for the structures nearby and grunted when a few bullets hit his own vest near his spine. Now fully on the defense, he threw himself behind a piece of machinery twice his size, panting from the exertion. Blood roared in his ears as his breaths fogged up the glass of his visor again. Stevie was somewhere to his rear, silent and hidden. Butch lifted the visor and wiped the sweat off his brow, forcing the encroaching fatigue back as his brain lapsed into survival mode and sharpened all five senses.

A scuffling noise about a dozen yards behind alerted him to Stevie's current position. He prepared to swivel around the right side of the metal structure and bait Stevie into coming out in the open, but another volley of bullets to his left took him by surprise. Cursing, he moved to the next available cover, the last two shells in the shotgun heavy on his mind. He was unsure what Stevie hoped to accomplish by playing this cat and mouse game with him, but he had a feeling the older man had expected him to be dead by now.

Butch pressed his back against a set of steel crates and heard Stevie darting in a perpendicular direction. The move confused him, as Stevie could have easily come around to his left again. Instead, the loading sound of the rifle came from the right. He shifted to that side and peered around one crate. When the metal helmet rose from behind one console, Butch anticipated Stevie's face following and shot at it without thinking.

He kicked himself for the stupid impulse when he realized Stevie had been the one to bait him by lifting the helmet with the barrel of the rifle. Oldest trick in the book, and he fell for it when he really couldn't afford to. And to his further rage, Stevie's smug laughter drifted toward him and filled the space.

_Motherfucker. You'll get yours._

Maybe. One shell left. He thumped the back of his head against the crate, thinking hard on the statistics of him making it out of this. Not that he possessed any mathematical aptitude whatsoever, but at this moment, he figured the numbers were probably along the lines of _start praying_. He took into account that Stevie was wounded while he wasn't, but once he spent this last slug, all he had left were melee weapons.

The loud stomps of the other man's boots preceded yet another bombardment of advancing bullets. Butch tightened his grip on the shotgun and came to a decision. Readying himself, he waited until Stevie was almost around the corner, still shooting away. Then, taking his chances, he pivoted to the side, aimed, and fired.

_CLANG._

He hit Stevie's helmet again, but this time with a slug that burst into pellets. An earsplitting scream ripped across the room when several lodged into Stevie's left eye, blinding it in a spurt of blood and a jelly-like substance. Butch would have followed it up with a swing of the shotgun to take him down, but the continued wild firing of the assault rifle convinced him to dodge and run for new cover.

He dropped the shotgun, now deadweight, and went for the only clear path—which led to a dead end out in the open. After a moment's hesitation, Butch yelped and clutched his thigh, a bullet having caught one of his unprotected areas. The sharp pain worsened with each passing second, but through the stinging haze and Stevie's shrill cries he noticed that the rifle had been thrown aside. Too late, Butch understood Stevie's odd pattern of pursuit.

Not only did he herd Butch into a dead end and far away from Ivy's pack, he also must have anticipated that he himself would soon run out of rounds. Although it obviously didn't come out quite as planned, the tactical maneuver was something Butch hadn't seen coming. This area of the room left only one choice for the two adversaries: close quarters combat.

Both injured and out of ammo, they faced each other with more enmity than ever. Butch's chest heaved with labored breathing as he bent over his leg, willing himself to ignore the crippling burn as Stevie straightened and bared his teeth, blood and gunk flowing from his ruined eye socket. How he still appeared good to go, Butch had no clue, but Stevie curled a fist around his baton and stalked closer, murder written all over his features.

The superhuman endurance would have intimidated anyone else, but all Butch saw replaying in his mind over and over was Ivy's stunned expression as one bullet claimed her life. The tautness that had wound inside him finally snapped, bestowing his second wind in a surge of wrath. He snatched his own baton and shifted his stance to welcome the fight.

Stevie charged him head on, rushing forward in a crazed flurry of preemptive strikes. Butch kept his weight on his good leg as he braced himself and met the clash with a clean parry and sidestep. His concentration funneled into a narrow focus, reading Stevie's attacks while compensating for his limited mobility. The batons crashed against each other in a series of resounding claps, and Butch ducked after each block to evade the successive punches. Stevie had worked up to a mad frenzy, relying on brawn and desperation as he threw lumbering, half-blind blows. Butch matched his speed, noting the weaknesses in the other's armor as he waited for an opening.

_There._

A clumsy swipe left Stevie's side unguarded, and Butch jabbed his baton into the pellet wounds near his ribs. With a roar, Stevie abandoned all strategy and, quick as a flash, grabbed Butch's baton to yank him over. Before Butch knew what was happening, he found himself barreling forward, disarmed and suffering a new bolt of pain as both batons returned the favor by smashing into his bleeding thigh. A strangled sound escaped his throat as he landed on the floor, and Stevie was instantly upon him, yanking the security helmet from his head. He struggled to buck the lunatic off, overtaken by revulsion at the gory mess dripping over him.

Then, from out of nowhere, eight shots hit Stevie from the back.

A few managed to lodge into his exposed skin, but instead of keeling over, he jumped to his feet and whirled around to identify the new shooter. Butch hurried to sit up, though the excruciating throb in his leg prevented him from standing. Their gazes traveled across the room to take in an impossible sight.

Ivy stood hunched over, features dark and malevolent as she flung down the pistol Wally had discarded. And then in another astonishing move, she brought up two stimpack syringes in her hands, used her teeth to pry the caps off, and jammed them simultaneously into the back of her neck. Butch gaped while she administered the medicine into herself, and even Stevie failed to react right away, mesmerized by the dead woman who had come back to life.

"Ivy?!" Butch cried in utter disbelief. "What…"

She paid him no heed for the moment, fixing her black stare firmly on the bane of her existence. "Still standing, Stevie? You and your goddamn Buffout."

"How are _you_ standing?" Stevie thundered, though his timbre shook with unease and wonder.

"Simple. If I'm going to die, it won't be by your hand."

And with that proclamation, Ivy whipped out what looked like a standard combat knife and took the offense. For someone who had received a shot to the cranium not too long ago, she carried herself rather well. Stevie flew into motion and attempted to tackle her when she drew near, but she darted away at the last second and countered with a slash toward his face. It grazed his cheek and inflicted a shallow scratch, enough to enrage him further. He swung a hook toward her, which she evaded, and even he seemed taken aback by her unexpected agility.

Butch watched them from his prone position, wanting to assist her, but unable to move without sending waves of agony over his leg. Fear wrenched his abdomen, and as Stevie appeared to gain the upper hand, he doubted he could handle seeing her go down again. The fast-paced brawl continued for minutes with Ivy running circles around her large opponent, cutting and stabbing at his armor to find the weakest points. She managed to knock the metal helmet away, and if he'd only had a loaded gun nearby, Butch would have taken the shot.

Fed up, Stevie grabbed a chunk of bloody auburn hair, eliciting a cry from Ivy's mouth as he caught the wrist wielding the knife and twisted until she dropped it. He tossed her at his feet like a rag doll and bent down to seize her weapon. However, instead of using it himself, he reared back and pitched it to the far end of the room. A sneer twisted over his lips as he turned back with the apparent intent of choking her. But suddenly, he stopped. Growling something incoherent, he staggered back a few steps as he smacked his palm against the scratch on his cheek. Ivy cradled her head and glowered up at him.

"That knife you just chucked across the floor was the Ant's Sting. Its blade is poisoned," she declared. "That should help negate whatever enhancement drugs you're taking."

Stevie snarled and leaped on her when she flipped over onto her hands and knees in an attempt to scramble away. He grasped her waist and pulled her back toward him, blocking her kicks with his elbow as he once again curled a fist into her hair. Butch's heart raced faster when Stevie's fingers found their way around her throat, and in an instant he remembered the last hope they had of winning this.

Digging his Toothpick out of his back pocket, he and Ivy instinctively locked eyes as Stevie began to strangle her. Butch jerked his head to indicate the side of the other man's vest and slid the switchblade over to her before Stevie noticed. As soon as it reached her hand, she flicked it open, estimated the target distance behind her, and plunged the blade into Stevie's ribs.

The ruthless digits over her neck loosened at once, and Ivy kept the Toothpick in place as she turned to lie on her back, coming face to face with the man who'd tormented her for far too long. Stevie had finally succumbed to his injuries, and this stab seemed to snap him out of the madness that had consumed him. His features fell into a solemn expression as he gazed down at the object of his obsession, truly seeing her for the first time.

"Ivy…"

With malice and spite, she twisted the blade and hissed, "Shut the hell up and ride me like it's your last fuck, baby."

Butch swallowed at the familiar words, realizing they were the same ones Stevie had used on her that first night he'd witnessed their secret relations from up in the vent. She claimed the dominant role now, a vengeful force returning to reap what he'd sown. Prying out the Toothpick with a rough hand, she ended it all there by slashing a deep gash across his throat.

He stayed still for it almost obediently, as if the remnants of his humanity accepted the deserved punishment. Blood from both his eye socket and his neck drizzled onto her armor, and he gurgled words Butch couldn't hear while Ivy took his jaw in her hands and shoved him away before he could collapse on her. She vaulted up and straddled him, refusing to make the same mistake twice. The Toothpick made several more entries into Stevie's neck, administered with increasing violence and accompanied by her anguished cries. Butch looked on until Ivy sniffled and ceased, satisfied and wearing liquid crimson.

She sat there perched atop her latest kill, breathing hard and wiping her eyes on her shoulder. He saw both the fulfillment and sorrow in her demeanor, the way she seemed to bid good bye to the Stevie she'd known before he transitioned into a monster. She could deny it all she wanted, but Butch sensed the meaning in her sobs. A long time ago, she and Stevie had something special together. It provided the basis for his desire to be with her even after he'd descended into fanatical love. But he distorted what they had, broke and squandered it.

Not so different from what Butch had done when he'd sent her off to the Wasteland by herself.

Despite the noises of a drill rumbling from outside the door, a calm atmosphere descended over them. Butch released an exhausted sigh and flopped back on the cold floor, his head swimming. He heard her rise and trudge over to him, and she sank to her knees at his side. They peered at each other in unspoken respite and understanding, and he reached up to run his thumb over her grimy cheekbone, just glad she was alive.

"How did you…" he started, not sure how to word it. Come back? Not die?

"Survive that shot?" she finished for him. At his nod, she rapped her knuckles against her skull. "Adamantium skeleton."

Butch blinked, and she offered a small smile at his blank stare.

"I've… gone through a lot in the Wasteland. Long story short, a surgeon I helped out offered to upgrade me with adamantium implants over my skeletal structure," Ivy explained. "Prior to this, I had an incident that resulted in regenerative effects on my body when I get radiation poisoning. So a month ago, I got the procedure done and healed up quick by getting irradiated. The process sucked, but the outcome was worth it."

"Damn. No kidding," was all Butch could reply as he wiped at the red trickling from her nose. "I thought you really were done for back there, nosebleed."

A musical laugh he never thought he'd hear again rang out around them. "Well, I'm not completely home-free. My head is going to need stitches, and I think I feel a concussion."

He now understood the reason why she'd been adamant about him wearing the riot helmet and why she weighed twice as much as she had before. A gloomy quality took over her eyes as she studied Stevie's corpse, but despite her battered state all covered in blood, she captivated Butch in that moment more than ever before. It would take a long time to heal the scars that ran deep beneath her skin, but the tortured quality in her face had vanished. Before they could say anything else, the flashing light of his Pip-Boy radio drew her attention.

"Hey, is Amata trying to contact us?" she asked.

Butch groaned as he turned up the volume. "Yeah, that annoying harpy…"

"Oh my God! Finally! What's going on?" Amata's voice demanded. "Butch, Ivy, is anyone hurt?"

"We both are, but we'll live. Not Stevie, though. He's kind of… dead," Butch answered flatly.

"Wally's here, and he said he bailed after Stevie shot Ivy."

"I'm okay. It was my skull against his bullet, and I won out."

Amata's tone was far from amused. "…Your skull? I hope you're joking. In any case, I'm glad you're both all right. If you can't move, I'll send a couple people down there with a stretcher."

"Uh…" Butch said as the drilling noise outside persisted. "There may be a problem with that."

"Why? Oh, security? Hang on, give me a minute."

The frequency cut off, leaving Butch and Ivy exchanging a glance. But sure enough, a minute later, the intercom system throughout the Vault blared to life.

_"Attention, Vault 101 security. In light of Overseer Allen Mack's death, Security Chief Stevie Mack's death, and the refusal of both Wally and Susie Mack to take on their father's mantle, all previous orders of hostile arrest are hereby voided. This message is brought to you by me, Amata Almodovar, the new Overseer of Vault 101."_

x-x-x-x-x

Butch ceased flicking the cleaned Toothpick open and closed as he glanced down the dark corridor. His thigh still throbbed, but Old Lady Palmer had done a competent stitching job on it, and now that he was back to wearing his standard Tunnel Snake attire, he felt more comfortable than he had in over a day. Figuring he still had a few minutes to decide, he limped his way to the level on which the incinerator was located. The new stillness throughout the Vault was almost unnerving, but he welcomed the quiet after what he'd just been through.

Ivy's offer circulated around his mind as he progressed further down the stairs.

_"Amata has asked me to leave—probably permanently—because people are up in arms over my history with the pictures at the spring formal and my dad's unintentional upheaval of the Vault. And even though he's gone, I'm picking up where he left off in his work, Project Purity. I know you want to leave this place, too, Butch. And I'm asking you again to come with me. I've met surgeons, researchers, doctors… brilliant people who will help me develop a cure for Wilson's once my dad's project has been fulfilled. I'd like you to be there with me."_

Butch frowned, initially refusing because he hadn't wanted it to look like he was crawling after her. But in truth, a degree of shame held him back. He hadn't done anything to deserve her regard or concern, especially when things between them hadn't completely recovered. And especially when he'd barely been of much help while she singlehandedly saved the Vault. Sure, he'd kept Stevie occupied by using himself as a moving target while she shot herself up with stimpacks, but that hardly counted. And now, faced with a decision like this on such short notice, and a limited time to boot, he didn't know what to do.

Once he entered the area containing the incinerator, he bypassed the large heated structure to head toward an adjoining room. Flicking on the lights, he strode up to the Tunnel Snake jacket he'd hung on the far wall. Sloppily crafted paper flowers decorated the floor below it, and he spared a glance at the other makeshift shrines before crouching down and gazing at the photo next to the _Captain Cosmos_ comic book.

"Hey, Paul," he greeted softly. "It's all finally over, man. The Macks are taken care of, Amata's the new Overseer and opening the Vault, and we'll be able to look around the outside world. Wish you could be here to see it."

Paul's smiling face beamed up at him from the picture.

"Ivy, she… she's a hell of a lot scarier, I'll tell ya that," Butch continued with a chuckle. "Girl's turned into a badass who holds her own. I'm proud of her. You would be, too. I kinda feel like shit for sweepin' her off when you were goin' after her, but she always said you were one of her best friends."

A grim pause filled the space, and he pushed back the emotion that welled up as a lump formed in his throat.

"We almost lost her today. Turns out she got metal surgery to make her head even harder than it was, but it was a damn close call," he muttered, wishing he could erase that image from his memory. "We already lost you, buddy. The Tunnel Snakes haven't been the same since everything went to hell. Freddie will be here to look after ya, dust off your jacket once in a while and stuff, but me… I'm thinkin' of heading out and takin' the Wasteland by storm with a new generation of Tunnel Snakes. Whaddya think?"

"I think it's a stupid, immature idea," someone responded from behind him.

Butch scowled, but didn't bother turning around. "Get lost, Wally. I'm havin' a moment here with a real Tunnel Snake."

The other man didn't budge. "Well, can you come out for a minute? I want a word with you."

Butch exhaled and straightened, spinning around. "You can't be fuckin' serious. There ain't nothin' else for us to say to each other, man."

"There is, actually." Wally beckoned and disappeared from the doorway.

Butch stalked after him, wondering what he was planning. _This is the punk who ran like a little bitch earlier. If he thinks he's gonna shank me now…_

But when he exited the room, he found Wally loitering in front of the incinerator, a full box of items in his arms. Butch raised an eyebrow as he wandered over and came to stand opposite from him, digging his hands into his pockets and gripping the Toothpick just in case.

"The hell is that?"

Wally's stony mask cracked a bit as regret weaved its way across his expression. "Before Stevie asked me to go with him to the filter room, I found these." He raised the box, showing Butch stacks of data chips, holodisks, a camcorder, and other media storage. "All the blackmail material on Ivy. The copies and reserves."

Butch's jaw tightened. "All of it? So you…"

Wally tore his gaze away. "Yeah. It all checked out. You and Ivy were right all along."

"Well, hallelujah. Mack has seen the light," Butch jeered, still very much pissed off. "That why you couldn't stab me in the back again during the big showdown earlier? You were getting so good at that, too."

The other man's silence was his answer. Guilt plagued his features, and after a brief hesitation, he kicked the door of the incinerator open and threw the entire box and its contents inside. Slamming it shut again, he refused to look Butch in the eye as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look, man. Why are you even still here? Ivy's heading out of the Vault as we speak," Wally stated.

Butch shrugged, figuring that this would be as close to an apology as he'd get. "So what? Not like we're dating or nothin'."

"Yeah, but after everything you did for her even when almost the entire Vault was against you, I thought you guys had something real going on. Not to mention you ended up putting down my dad and brother through it all."

"You fuckin' asshole, you know those two crazy sons of bitches were going to screw over the Vault—"

"I'm not saying that to blame you, I was just stating a fact," Wally interrupted. "What I'm getting at is, your motivations all point to solid feelings for Ivy, so why are you letting her walk out without you again?"

Butch paused at that. Because he was worried about whether she actually wanted him or not? Because he didn't know if he could deal with being seen as her subordinate? Because he was just scared?

_Nah, not that last part. The Butch-man doesn't get scared. At all. Not even a little bit. Nope. Crying when she got shot totally didn't count._

"Let's face it, Butch. Neither one of you belongs here anymore. But that's probably because you're supposed to be together."

He'd already been teetering on the edge of indecision, but hearing that from his observant former friend convinced him. Nodding shortly, he stepped forward and thumped Wally on the shoulder in a gesture of truce. The single motion held enough familiarity for both of them to understand its implication. Wally returned it and met his eyes, putting their feud to rest. Without saying anything more, Butch hurried out and made for the Vault entrance.

He didn't bother saying good bye to his mother or anyone else. Freddie would understand, and while he might possibly miss the rest of the people he'd gotten to know during his stint with the rebels, there was really only one person he needed to catch before she walked out of his life for good. And it would, of course, be his own fault again. He trekked the corridors and halls of the upper level, hobbling along while checking the elapsed time on his Pip-Boy. By now, she could be halfway to the next town.

Butch reached the atrium and ignored the pain in his leg as he jogged across the floor past the empty makeshift barracks. He hadn't taken this route last time, but the linear path led him to the same underground passageway that opened to the Vault entrance. Panting, he heard the zinc tablets bouncing around the bottle in his jacket pocket as he sped toward the figure that had reached the outer door. Just in time.

"Ivy!"

She stopped as soon as she opened the wooden door, pouring unfiltered sunlight in and nearly blinding him. He squinted against the brightness as he slowed and came to a halt in front of her, already tired and out of breath. Bracing his palms on his knees, he took in the bandage wrapped around Ivy's head. She had changed into one of her old jumpsuits, but it was the Tunnel Snake jacket she wore that had him staring in surprise.

"So you're coming with me this time?" she inquired, evidently peeved that he had waited till the last minute to make up his mind.

"Sorry. Had to get my head out of my ass first," he quipped, straightening as his eyes adjusted to the radiance.

"Well, I actually have some companions who have been waiting outside while I dealt with the Vault's issues, so if you're ready to go…"

Butch opened his mouth to ask about them, but a ray of light hit the chain around her neck and caught his eye. "Yeah, but hey… I think you're wearin' something that belongs to me."

Ivy glanced down and took out the serpent pendant, examining the jewelry as it hung over her chest. "Oh? Didn't you give this back to me? _Twice_ , in fact? If I recall correctly, you once threw it down when it was my first Christmas present to you. Then you returned it again when we were standing in this very spot—"

He cut her off by reaching out to grab and tug it toward him, yanking her along. His lips crashed over hers in a kiss long overdue, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek as she made a sound of indignation. But then her arms were wrapping around his neck, and she pressed herself flush against him, returning the kiss passionately. Everything clicked into place at that moment, confirming that fate wasn't so cruel after all. They belonged at each other's side, braving the world together no matter where they went. It felt right, it felt true, and most of all, it felt amazing.

Ivy broke their contact to gasp for air, just as she had during their first kiss in the storage room. They'd come a long way since that initial meeting in the classroom. Butch had never imagined they'd go through everything they did and end up like this, but despite the hardships, it all worked out.

He still wasn't a fan of the lip piercings, though. "Y'know, once we get some downtime, those have gotta go, girl."

Even with the scratches and scars on her face, she positively glowed as she gazed up at him. "I really missed you," she murmured, allowing him to remove the chain from around her neck so he could return it to his.

He shifted and cleared his throat. "Ivy, I… um. I, you know… I—"

She laughed that sweet laugh he remembered, and in that instant, she was the same Ivy she ever was. "It's okay. I know what you're trying to say."

_Good, 'cause I'm not sure I do._

But he grew somber as he gently brushed the bandage over her forehead. "Seriously, Ivy. You don't know how much it messed me up when I thought I'd lost you in the filter room."

She took his hand and laced her callused fingers through his, her features going tender. "Sorry, I should have told you about the adamantium. Though you should've told me the real reason why you stayed back the last time I left the Vault. Amata said you did it to keep tabs on the Macks and prevent them from pursuing me."

"Oh. Yeah, 'cause, you know… I, uh… well…"

"I love you."

The declaration filled him with more happiness than he'd thought possible. Still, he fumbled over his words until she chuckled, and he gave up saying it back for the time being. He'd work on it.

Flushing, he tried to keep the goofy grin from spreading over his mouth as he pulled at the collar of her jacket. "So, uh… where'd this come from?"

Ivy ran her fingertips over it. "I had it in my pack. Figured I'd bring it with me for luck when I heard Amata's distress call."

"Once a Tunnel Snake always a Tunnel Snake, huh?"

She smiled softly. "That's right. Shall we show the Wasteland what we can do?"

As he followed her through the door, taking his first step outside the Vault, he revised his earlier musings.

Butch DeLoria answered to no one… even Ivy Ashburn.

But when it came to Ivy Ashburn, Butch DeLoria would do anything and everything for her, move sun, moon, stars, and all that romantic poetry shit to keep her safe, help fulfill her dreams, and make her happy.

And as he walked with her toward two silhouettes in the distance, he noticed something about the serpent pendant for the first time. He wasn't sure if it was the natural sunlight or what, but he found he could suddenly read the illegible writing that had always been there on the side. Grasping it in his palm, he lifted it closer, almost laughing when he realized how fitting it was.

_RULE._

Rule your actions. Own them.

Rule your mistakes. Learn from them.

Rule your person. You define who you are.

That was why Tunnel Snakes ruled.

They lived by the Serpent Code.


End file.
